


Twisted Fate

by Mysdrym



Series: Impervious [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysdrym/pseuds/Mysdrym
Summary: When a young elven priestess gest involved with one of Silvermoon's most notorious playboys, things get complicated rather quickly.
Series: Impervious [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122644
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I took down a bunch of warcraft stories because I was going to make a book series, and while I would still like to, that won't likely happen for some time, so I'm putting them back up. This is one of the side story prequels to my long fic, Impervious.
> 
> This is the first of the series.

Gryst'lyn Emberdawn lay nestled in rumpled sheets beside Lady Aubrist Dawnsong, stroking her back as she smiled to herself, content to simply enjoy his touch. He playfully drummed his fingers against the small of her back, and she opened her pale blue eyes and leaned toward him, whispering, "Tell me you love me."

"I told you before I can't do that," Gryst'lyn gave her a half grin, and they both laughed.

However, loneliness chased the humor from Lady Dawnsong's lips."I suppose you did." She sat up and nipped one of his long, elven ears playfully. He caught her around her waist and pulled her on top of him, his hands running across her smooth skin, his lips brushing like feathers against her neck. She pulled back slightly, crossing her arms and resting on top of them on his chest. "Why can't you? Even if it's only pretend—"

"Because I'm in love with someone else."

Lady Dawnsong let out a short cluck, eyebrows arching. "Does she know you're sleeping your way through town?"

"Probably not," he shrugged. "It's...complicated."

"My dear, I'm almost a century older than you. I think I can handle complicated."

Gryst'lyn slumped back into the tussled cloth around them. He ran his fingers across the slight stubble dotting his chin as he considered where best to start. "Well, I was nine, and she was seven when we met. And, well, I don't know how to explain it, but it was like the whole world just fell away. She was all that there was."

"When you were nine?"

He grinned. "This is why I don't explain it to people." With a shrug, he heaved a dramatic sigh. "We played in the woods together for the whole day." Gryst'lyn frowned when he noticed his bed partner's disapproving look. "It was completely innocent. Please, I didn't turn into a dog for at least another dozen years." He laughed as Lady Dawnsong rolled her eyes. "But, we made plans to meet back near a creek the next day, and she didn't show up."

"What happened?"

He shrugged again, allowing his gaze to wander to the window. "I never found out." A sad smile tugged at his lips. "I know it's crazy...I mean, I never even got her name. But I just...it's like I met my other half that day, and no matter whose comfort I take, I haven't been able to feel anything like it since."

Lady Dawnsong ran her fingers across his chest to his shoulders as she leaned up and kissed him. "Poor thing...maybe you'll find her someday."

Gryst'lyn kissed her back and rolled over so that he was on top of her, the sheets tangling around their legs. "I hope so."

However, as he slipped down, his lips peppering her skin with kisses, an unfamiliar voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Aubrist? I'm home."

Gryst'lyn shot up to a sitting position. "You said he'd be gone for the weekend."

Lady Dawnsong was already darting out of the bed, running to her closet for a nightgown. "He was supposed to be." She didn't bother with underwear as she threw something on and turned to the room to help Gryst'lyn gather his clothes. She shoved his pants and shoes at him as he threw his shirt on, not bothering to button it up. "Go out the window."

"Are you mad, woman?"

It was not one of his finer moments, but then, as an elf who made a regular habit of sleeping with others' wives, he really didn't have many fine moments to choose from to begin with.

Lady Dawnsong was combing her fingers through her hair, desperate to make herself look like she'd just woken up. "There is a fidelity clause in my marriage contract. I am not about to lose this lifestyle because you're afraid of heights."

"I'm not afraid of heights; you have rosebushes."

Lady Dawnsong sighed and smiled, her expression softening as she walked up to him and ran her finger down his cheek. "Gryst'lyn...you're a good boy, deep down." She rose up on her toes to kiss him.

Gryst'lyn was rather caught up in the kiss when he realized his world was starting to tilt, and he could feel wind. He grabbed the window frame, wondering for a split second how he'd gotten there so quickly. He always forgot mages could blink. Though, he had to admit he'd never seen one drag someone else along with them. "You're trying to push me out the damn window?"

"I already told you; you have to go."

"I'm going," Gryst'lyn hissed, sitting on the sill and swinging his legs out even as he thrust them into his pants. "Could I at least get slow fall?"

"Of course, dear—"

"Aubrist?" The door behind them opened. Lady Dawnsong shoved Gryst'lyn in the back, sending him plummeting below as she snapped the window shut and turned to face her husband. "Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Darling," she started toward her husband. "I'm sorry, I was quite enraptured with a few birds out the window."

"Oh? What birds?"

"They don't matter now that you're here...."

~?~

Amaeria Lightswill sat on a bench, quietly thumbing through an ancient Amani text. On a recent outing, a friend of the family, Farstrider Captain Jaserisk Dawningblade had returned with a small collection of old tomes from one of the northernmost Amani villages. The two had been friends since they were children, and he had brought it straight to her to see before he took it to the magisters. The pages smelled of dust and dry rot, but they'd been enchanted to hold together. That had most likely been an afterthought, as there was already so much damage to the worn paper.

He'd given her a flourished bow, a cocky smile in place as he'd left her with that tome, like he was expecting something more to come of it.

Something more had come indeed.

The grand cleric himself had come to Amaeria while she was tidying up one of the courtyards, asking if she would be able to transcribe the text into Thalassian. She'd always had a gift for learning other languages—the elves hadn't been trading with humans for very long and she was already fluent in common—and he had wanted to test just how brilliant she really was. She didn't doubt that the 'glowing reviews' he'd heard about her abilities had been from Jaserisk and her mother. It didn't matter. She had been chosen out of the dozens of scholars who could read and speak Zandali to translate and transcribe.

With a sigh, she closed the book.

If only this had happened a week later.

Breathing in deeply, she rested her head against the wall behind the outcrop she was sitting on. The wind swept past her, making strands of her long, white-blonde hair dance around her.

Her best friend in the whole world, Prynn Morningwhisper, had come down with a cold. It still awed her that priests could banish demons, dispel magic ailments, and cure diseases, but when it came to the common cold, somehow they were helpless. Regardless of their shortcomings, Prynn was left to let her immune system do the fighting for her.

It could have been a lot worse, though. Prynn had pulled a few of the less favorable tasks for the week, including reorganizing the library and playing fetch for their superiors. It would have been absolutely miserable for her to have to run through the streets, gathering important items for the priesthood, all while trying to breathe and not sneeze or cough all over everything.

Amaeria hadn't had anything major to do—just tend to the gardens, something she'd always been fond of—so she'd offered to take on Prynn's duties until her friend was better.

And then she'd gotten assigned the translation of this gloriously old text.

It was going to be a long, long week.

A small light glimmered next to her, flashing softly in rhythm with a faint chiming that was slowly growing louder, and she sighed. It was time to put the book away and get to work. With a wave of her hand, her alarm light dispersed, and she headed into the cathedral.

~?~

Adrias Duskflame cracked his neck as he sauntered into his room. His clothes were a mess, and his dark hair fell haphazardly around him. He pulled off the disheveled look quite nicely, however, something that had always worked well for him.

Just as he reached to pull off his robe and get ready to pass out after a pleasantly sinful night, an arm slung over his shoulders. He grew deathly still, having to bite back the curse that sprung to his lips.

The last time this had happened, it had been someone's fiancé who had stalked him and broken into his family's estate, so it was with a careful eye that he turned to see who was being so friendly and if it was just a front to lull him into a false sense of security before someone tried to break his nose.

However, as soon as he saw the elf leaning against him, he broke out into a grin.

"Gryst'lyn. I thought you had plans for the weekend."

The two of them had been friends ever since that fateful night years ago when they'd tried to pick up the same lady at a tavern. As they'd each leaned in from opposite sides, the elf had scoffed and pushed away from the bar, leaving the two men standing there, staring at one another in disbelief.

It had been like looking into a contorted mirror. Both were intent on sleeping with pretty much every female in Silvermoon, and when they had met, it had been as though fate had brought them together.

There had been that brief instant where each had narrowed his eyes, wondering if they ought to be enemies. Surely if they were both trying to pick up ladies, that meant that they were each other's competition.

However, sabotage would have probably been worse than simply sharing.

Gryst'lyn had been the one to extend a casual, friendly greeting first. Adrias had honestly never had a friend before that moment. Being a part of the underworld as he was left one—generally speaking—rather paranoid and fully aware of the less than desirable thoughts that a mortal mind could house. Gryst'lyn had been different, though. He had been just as dark and amoral—well, to an extent—as Adrias.

Ever since that night, they'd worked together, heading into taverns and inns and helping one another get the girl. Girls, really. Every now and then one of them would find a particularly good lay, and the other would be off on his own for a few days, but the 'My best friend just found someone, and now I'm lonely' card worked beautifully with the ladies, so they were never too concerned.

There were but two constants in their lives: their parents’ disappointment in them, and each other.

Gryst'lyn ran his fingers through his messy, crimson hair. "I had plans, but...they fell through."

Adrias inspected him. One of Gryst'lyn's shirt sleeves was ripped, and his clothes bore dirt stains. "Was it a husband or father who came home?"

"Husband." Gryst'lyn murmured, sighing. He glanced around the room, his shoulders slumping as he released Adrias. "I was about to get sympathy sex, too."

"Oh, let me guess. She thought it was touching that you fell in love when you were kid?"

With a full grin, Gryst'lyn nodded. "It's amazing how they always fall for that."

"You're such an asshole, Gryst."

"Your words are daggers in my heart." He grinned and held his hands over his exposed chest—he still hadn't bothered to button up his shirt—and stumbled back a few paces as though he'd been hit.

Adrias just laughed and shook his head. "I take it you need clothes, then?"

"Mm-hm," Gryst'lyn's humor slipped. "My father said he'd disown me if I wandered in looking like a street rat again." He paused. "I think he's all talk, but my sister's worried."

With a wave of his hand, Adrias motioned toward his closet. "Take whatever you want; just make sure you bring it back."

"You, my good mage, are a saint."


	2. Chapter 2

"Get lost in the nether."

Gryst'lyn let his ears quiver and bend as he gave the elf in front of him a pitiful look, still holding his shirt out. "Miss Sunroost, please. You know you're the best tailor in Silvermoon."

The woman crossed her arms, a frown firmly in place. He'd managed to catch her as she was coming back from the market with new silks for her wares. Before she knew what had happened, he was carrying half of her belongings, a broad smile in place as he asked her about the weather.

Esserie Sunroost had never fallen for either Gryst'lyn’s or Adrias' advances and as a result, they'd developed an odd sort of respect for her. She could mend most anything and, despite their reputation, still took their coin. It was a good thing, too. They alone spent enough at her shop to keep it open.

However, today, her mood seemed particularly foul. She'd actually tried to fight him to get back her materials, insisting that she hadn't time for his nonsense. In the end, he'd managed to dodge out of her reach enough times that she tired of wasting her day and had simply let him trail along after her with her things.

Now, he stood beside her near the back of her shop, holding his shirt out to her as she made a point of not looking in his direction, instead sorting through her silks to see which would be needed for different gowns for the upcoming ball.

No doubt a dozen or so fools had waited until the last minute to order their garments, leaving her hard pressed for time.

"Have you ever considered that perhaps you don't deserve the best?"

Gryst'lyn pouted his lower lip, even though he knew that it wouldn't affect her. However, one of the newer seamstresses who worked at the shop was peering at him from the room in the back room. She was a little pudgy, but held a certain curious lust in her eyes that had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count. If he played his cards right, she'd take pity on him and fix his shirt...and maybe even come home with him a bit later.

"This shirt means a lot to me—"

"You bought it here last week," Miss Sunroost snapped. "And I'm quite certain that any memories you may have made to make this scrap of cloth indispensable would be disgusting at best, so please just stop talking."

"I'll pay you the price of one of your gowns if you'll fix it."

"Buy a new shirt," she scoffed at the thought of how willing he was to throw away his coin.

"But I like this one." He paused. "And I promise not to come back until after the ball. Spend five minutes sewing up my shirt, and you'll have almost a full hundred sixty-eight hours free from me."

"That," she snatched his shirt from him, "is a deal worth making."

She pivoted sharply, disappearing into the back. In one fluid motion, she rapped her knuckles against her apprentice's head and ordered her back to work before vanishing from sight. Gryst'lyn crossed his arms and then uncrossed them. He stepped up to the nearest counter and drummed his fingers against the surface as he idly inspected the different dresses and robes on display. It seemed that lately the newest fashion trend involved gowns that were more and more complicated to take off.

He hoped he and Adrias weren't affecting that. He'd nearly broke a finger three nights prior when he'd been undressing a lovely little thing in the back of a tavern.

Even as he considered that surely the latest trends had nothing to do with fathers trying to keep their daughters safe from two elves, he heard soft footsteps just outside the shop. Automatically turning, he paused as a young lady walked into the store.

She had a nice figure, though her plain, white robe did little for it. A priestess. He'd undressed enough of them to recognize their robes when he saw them. Regardless of her profession, she shouldn't have been wearing white. She was already pale and her hair was white blonde to boot. Simple white hair clips helped her ears keep her hair from falling into her face, though she did have some longish bangs. Her pale blue eyes were the only real color to her.

Even so, he couldn't look away. Something about her drew his attention and made his breath catch in his throat.

She hadn't seen him yet. She'd stopped just inside and was looking over one of the gowns nearest the doorway with the simplistic, innocent awe of one unaccustomed to such extravagance. Her fingers trailed down an intricate bodice, feeling the soft fabric beneath her finger tips.

Gryst'lyn found himself wanting to feel her finger tips on him.

He still couldn't breathe.

Her long hair fell down her back, ending a little below her butt, and as she stepped up to the next dress, the light caught her hair, and it shone like it was made of white gold.

Gryst'lyn couldn't explain it, but it was as though he was drawn to her. As she leaned down to inspect the tiny flowers sewn into a sleeve's hem, he was abruptly struck with the terror that she might decide this place was out of her price range and leave. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to move, to call out to her.

Finally, she turned toward the rest of the store. Her gaze swept over the area, much as his had earlier, stopping on him. She froze and a faint rosy hue flushed into her cheeks and ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

He could picture her laid out upon his bed, her legs tangled with his in the bed sheets as he pulled her to him and…

"It's finished; get out."

It was with great effort that he tore his eyes away from the priestess to look at Miss Sunroost. With a frown, he took the shirt from her and inspected it. If it was really fixed so quickly, he was honor bound to leave the shop. Would it be wise to loiter out front? He couldn't explain it, even to himself, but he wanted to talk to that priestess.

"Miss…?" Miss Sunroost slipped past him, a merchant's smile on her face as she stepped up to the young priestess. "May I help you with something?"

The young elf was still watching Gryst'lyn with a look of stunned marvel, much to his relief, but as the shopkeeper spoke, she looked away. He was surprised at how destitute it left him. He wanted her attention back.

"I'm here to pick up some robes for the order?" It was a question rather than a declaration. Her voice was soft, and he had to perk his ears to hear her.

"Oh, by the Light—sorry, for using the light's name in vain dear," Miss Sunroost quickly corrected herself.

"It's alright," the priestess smiled, her voice much more confident. She hesitated, glancing at Gryst'lyn and then back to her hostess. "If they aren't ready, I could come back later."

"No, no," Miss Sunroost held her hands in the air, palms out and shook them. "They're…mostly ready. Can you wait twenty minutes?"

"Of course," she nodded, and her hair shifted, some of it falling over her shoulders, catching the light again.

She would be gorgeous in one of these gowns.

"Excellent!" Miss Sunroost motioned around at the shop. "Feel free to look around while you wait." She turned back toward Gryst'lyn, all humor slipping. "Do I have to find a guard?"

Gryst'lyn started to curse under his breath, but paused when he realized that even as he'd watched them, he'd been meticulously tugging out the seam of one of the sleeves. Failing to hide his triumphant grin, he held up the shirt and arched a delicate eyebrow. "You call this fixed?" Though the woman looked ready to strangle him, he leaned toward her and whispered, "If you fix it, I won't come back for a month. You've my word."

With a scowl, she snatched the fabric out of his hands and then looked at the priestess. "If he so much as steps toward you, scream, and someone will come help, okay?"

The priestess looked rather startled by the idea that Gryst'lyn might be the kind of someone to avoid. He found himself wanting to smack Miss Sunroost for putting the notion in her head, but managed to restrain himself. He'd never struck anyone without proper, physical provocation, and he wasn't about to change.

Not on a day when it actually mattered.

He frowned as he considered that it did actually matter.

He genuinely cared if this elf turned him down. He didn't even know her.

A hush fell across the room, and he came out of his thoughts to see that Miss Sunroost had actually left the two of them alone. The elf stood a few feet away from him, amid the clothing displays. Though she was trying to appear as though she was interested in the wares around her, her gaze kept flitting back to him. When he caught her staring, her cheeks and ears flushed.

She busied herself with inspecting a gown on display.

For a breath, it felt like his legs wouldn’t obey him, but he finally managed a casual saunter over to where she was browsing. What could he say? That he'd never believed the light took on a physical form before her? That was far too corny, and there was no way she'd take him seriously if he said something like that. Should he compliment her beauty? She was beautiful, even if she was so pale. When the light touched her, rather than leaving her washed out, she seemed radiant, as though she herself was the source.

With an internal chastise, he dismissed the idea. He didn't want her to think he was shallow, even if he generally was.

He was floundering. He never floundered. He was never at a loss for what to say, never unsure how to approach a woman. He and Adrias had made a damn art out of it. As he came to stop next to her, he again wondered why this mattered so much to him.

With most women, if they weren't interested, in the end there would be more. But this was different. He couldn't explain why.

He barely realized that he'd picked up one of the dresses near them until he was holding it out to her and speaking. "I think this one would go better with your complexion."

In truth, he hadn't even looked at it. It was just a way to get her to talk to him. However, she had apparently been too engrossed in her own thoughts, for she jumped and whirled around when he spoke, staring up at him with a panicked expression as her cheeks and ears again donned their rosy hue. He wanted to nuzzle her hair. He offered her a confident smile, despite the fear seething through him.

She looked to be at an utter loss for words, which didn't help, as he was also tongue-tied. He needed to think of something else to say, and quickly, before she brushed him off.

With a tentative hand, she reached out and ran her fingers along the neckline of the dress he was holding. "It is lovely," she said, her voice still so soft, "but I'm afraid I've never been very good in purple."

"Mauve, technically," Gryst'lyn corrected. He had to fight not to snap his teeth shut on his tongue when she looked up to meet his gaze again. What in the nether was this damn sensation in his chest? It was warm and constricting. He felt like he couldn't breathe, yet he didn't want it to go away. Setting the dress back on a hanging post that didn't belong to it, he leaned against one of the display tables, allowing himself a bit closer to her.

Before he could ask her what colors she liked, she arched her eyebrows and tilted her head back, keeping his gaze. "I think I'm supposed to yell for help now."

"Well, you could," he straightened up, crossed his arms, and then brought one up while still resting its elbow in his other hand. He used his free hand to make a few vague gestures. "However, if you did that, then we wouldn't be able to talk anymore."

"About mauve?"

"About whatever you like, my dear lady," he replied, allowing himself one of his charming smiles.

A smile of her own tugged at her lips, though she tried to hide it. "Now that is a dangerous smile." She looked back at the dress she was standing nearest, pretending to inspect it, and missing as his humor wavered. "I suppose you get many companions into bed with a look like that?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to figure out what the game was. Some women were impressed with other conquests—they liked having experienced partners. Others though…others wanted to be that special 'one'.

He shivered as he thought of the notion and how strangely desperate he felt for this elf's approval. Gryst'lyn could almost feel her bare skin against his, the smell of her body, her hair in tangles across his pillows…

Without thinking, he reached out and lightly brushed back some of her hair. She looked up at him, startled. For a moment, he froze, unsure what to do. Unsure what she wanted him to do.

"Anything in the store."

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Anything you want. I'll get it for you."

With a disbelieving laugh, she turned to face him fully. "I don't…" She trailed off for a moment, obviously lost. He wanted to strangle himself. Of all the things he could have said, and he'd gone with that? She lightly took his hand to move it away from her hair, but paused when their skin touched. It felt electric and tingles raced up his arm. She shivered before patting his hand and letting it go. "I don't generally accept gifts from strangers."

"Then let's not be strangers," he said, too quickly. As though to make up for it, he gave her a half bow, though he never lowered his head enough to let his gaze leave her. "Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Amaeria Lightswill," she said, curtseying in return. Her hand knocked into one of the dress stands, and she jerked out of her dip, trying to catch it before it could crash to the ground. Gryst'lyn caught it before it could and gave her a more genuine grin as he righted the prop.

She was blushing again.

As she bit her lip, he reached out and cupped her chin, pulling her face up so that she wasn't watching the floor tiles which had apparently become of great interest rather quickly. "If it's too soon to buy you a dress, would dinner be an acceptable replacement?"

~?~

Amaeria sat on a small bench in the square nearest the cathedral, hands clasped loosely in her lap as she watched the other elves walking down the street. There were hardly any left.

Had she gotten the time wrong? Or perhaps he'd meant tomorrow and not tonight?

The shadows around her were growing longer by the minute, but she didn't get up. Doing so would be admitting, if only to herself, that she'd been stood up. She fiddled with the cuff of her robe, glancing down at the simple pattern on it and idly wondering if Gryst'lyn had shown up, seen her, and thought better of his earlier flirts.

According to Miss Sunroost, he was little more than sentient filth and that she oughtn't to meet him, as he'd break her heart. He _had_ seemed like somewhat of a flirt.

But then, there'd been something about him. She couldn't place it. The moment she'd seen him, her mind had gone completely and utterly blank. She'd been at a loss for what to do, what to say. It had been like the light itself was helping her when he'd dared to come over and talk to her.

After they'd made their date, he'd gathered a few locks of her hair and kissed them. And then Miss Sunroost had been there, shoving a shirt into his hands and dragging Amaeria away, hissing that she'd warned him. He hadn't seemed to care though. He'd merely waved to her, blown her another kiss, and walked out into the sunlight, his hair gleaming like fire.

Even as she remembered him, she shifted a little, feeling heat rising in her cheeks.

This was crazy.

She'd heard stories of people simply falling in love at first sight, but that wasn't real. Love was formed from getting to know someone and finding that you wanted them near you, despite their flaws. It was welcoming their strengths _and_ weaknesses. It was cherishing everything that was them.

Or so she'd always assumed. Prynn had told her that she was overly romantic and that no relationship was ever so completely accepting.

But even Amaeria drew the line at love at first sight. After all, you couldn't know a person from just looking at them.

Yet here she was, sitting in the square, waiting for a man she barely knew. She'd never heard his laugh, never heard his cry. She didn't know his habits or virtues. He was a mystery.

A mystery that apparently had other things to do.

She wound a lock of hair around a finger slowly as she leaned forward to peer down a few of the streets feeding into the open area. Perhaps something had happened to him? He had seemed so nice, but then…

Lady Sunroost had told her not to trust him. He was Gryst'lyn Emberdawn. While she hadn't been able to place the name right away, Lady Sunroost had filled her in. As soon as Gryst'lyn was gone, Amaeria had been dragged into the back of the shop, as though to make sure he wouldn't be able to get a hold of her if he came back. Miss Sunroost had even walked her back to the cathedral, each of them carrying a dozen robes in their arms.

The whole way there, she'd talked about how Gryst'lyn was horrible.

She needn't have. Once the connections had been made, Amaeria had been rather mystified. She knew who he was. Women confessing their infidelities, men needing to be talked out of their revenge, and loved ones asking how best to mend a broken heart all came to the priesthood, and she listened to a good many of them.

Somehow though, despite the descriptions of the man, she'd never thought he would be so…charming. So dashing. A small part of her wished that she'd reached out and run her fingers through his hair, along that firm jaw, down his neck to trace his collarbone….

"My lady, has anyone ever told you that blue is rather becoming on you?"

Amaeria whipped her head up, expectant.

However, Gryst'lyn Emberdawn did not stand before her. Instead, it was Jaserisk Dawningblade. The man's features were sharper than Gryst'lyn's, his muscles more defined. He was in leathers which bore a hint of dust—no doubt he'd done his best to wipe them down, but short of a magister's spell, there was no way to completely get rid of the hints of travel—and his long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.

He quirked a brow as he watched her before offering her a flourished bow and dropping to sit beside her. "You look lovely tonight."

She blinked and looked down at her dress. It was a simple robe, mostly blue with bold green lines around the neckline and hems. A spellbinder's design, if she remembered correctly. The dark colors made her seem all the paler, but she thought that it was easily her nicest gown. She'd wanted to look pretty tonight.

As she puzzled over the events of the day again, she was suddenly struck with the notion that perhaps this was some sort of spell. The fact that Master Emberdawn was able to lure so many women into his bed was legendary and there were rumors that he used less than honorable methods for it. Was she under some sort of spell then?

She couldn’t remember her dispel and frowned.

"You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

Amaeria blinked and jerked toward Jaserisk, instantly feeling guilty as she met his gaze. He gave her a gentle smile and patted her shoulder. Then, with a jut of his chin, he waved his hand toward the empty street. "Were you and Prynn planning a lady's night out?"

Amaeria snorted, sitting up a bit straighter, suddenly self-conscious. Why had she dressed up so? "A lady can't want to look pretty for no reason?"

He let out a soft laugh. "I suppose she can…" He trailed off and inspected her, his expression something she wasn't used to. They'd known each other for years and suddenly, the man beside her seemed foreign. It was unsettling. The notion passed in an instant as he hopped to his feet and then offered her a hand, an almost boyish grin in place. "It'll be dark soon. Shall I walk you home?"

"Actually, I should go back to the cathedral," Amaeria replied. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet, flashing a smile as he matched her stride.

"I'll walk you there, then."

"I think I'll be fine. It's not very far."

"You never know." He paused, glancing about the street. "Monsters hide behind the friendliest of faces."

Her mind went to Gryst'lyn. What has she said to him? Something about how dangerous his smile was?

"You'll have to tell me what it is that's got you so enthralled."

"It's nothing important," Amaeria offered. When he didn't seem convinced, she tried to think of something. Before, she never would have lied to him, but somehow, it didn't seem right to mention Gryst'lyn. "I was able to translate some of that text you procured. It's quite interesting."

"Oh?" Jaserisk frowned for an instant before his regular smile returned. "So it’s not just a laundry list? Good. I was hoping it would be an interesting read."

"Quite!" She reached out and looped her arm with his. He seemed surprised for an instant before he relaxed and let his shoulder press against hers. "Though I'm afraid it won't help you much against the Amani. Not what I've translated thus far, anyway."

"Well, I think you should let me be the judge of that," he leaned toward her a bit, a look of mock seriousness in place.

"Alright. It starts with a ritual…"


	3. Chapter 3

"And then we can throw our naked bodies on a rack of glass shards of varying lengths and let every elf we've ever slighted stomp on our cocks."

"Sure, if you want." Gryst'lyn stared off the balcony, his elbows leaning against the smooth stone as he cupped his chin in his hands. The city was always so beautiful at night. The way the lights shone out from the different windows, their hues ever so faintly colored in whites, oranges, reds, and the rare blue or green. Each light told a story of its owner. The fainter ones going out early told of the prudent and the secretive, while the ones that burned brightly whispered of confidence, comfort, and shamelessness.

Adrias leaned next to him, crossing his arms across the stone and letting his gaze wander out over the city as well. "Which one do you think is hers?"

Eyes widening, Gryst'lyn jerked away from the rail. "I wasn't thinking of Amaeria."

Adrias looked nonplussed. "I was talking about the lovely young thing we met an hour ago at the tavern. The one who was all over the two of us. The one who said she'd always wanted to try a three way. The one _you_ told wasn't the prettiest elf you'd ever seen, but 'would do, you supposed'."

"You could have bedded her without me," Gryst'lyn muttered.

"Of course I could have," Adrias scoffed. He pushed himself away from the rail and crossed his arms. His dark hair spilled over his shoulders as he glared. His eyes had always had a hint of teal to them. It had something to do with the magic he used. Such things went over Gryst'lyn's head. However, his companion was in no mood to let his point slip. "However, I can ill afford to indulge in pleasures of the flesh when my friend is so…stricken."

"How noble of you."

"I'd rather not make a habit of it," he snapped. Letting his gaze wander back toward the city, he peered out at the different lights. He'd told Gryst'lyn that he liked watching them go out as people succumbed to the night.

A brief silence reigned between the two of them before Adrias finally sighed and turned to Gryst'lyn again. "You need to fuck her and move on."

"I don't think she'd let me after that comment—"

"This time I meant your little priestess. Amarri or whatever her name is."

"Don't talk about her like she's some trollop we'd find in a bar!" Gryst'lyn hissed, reaching out and gripping Adrias' collar. He hauled his friend so that their faces were inches from one another.

Adrias made no move to fight him, his face placid. " _This_ is why you need to do something." As Gryst'lyn released him and muttered a few curses under his breath, Adrias tugged his shirt back into place. "I don't know if it's a magic-fueled attempt at retribution or what, but she's under your skin." He reached out and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's been a week since you exchanged names in a tailoring shop, and I don't think you've had sex since, have you? You're hung up on her, for whatever reason. Get her out of your system and come back to me. The darkness misses you."

He gave Gryst'lyn a crooked smile, though he couldn't return it. Since he'd met Amaeria, everything had been wrong.

After he'd left the shop, it just hadn't sat right with him. Why was he so enthralled? It made no sense and while part of him was elated at the thought of simply being near her, another part of him couldn't stand the fact that he needed it so badly.

He was Gryst'lyn Fucking Emberdawn. He didn't _need_ any elven maiden.

Before he'd even made it home, he'd decided that he wouldn't see the priestess again. He didn't know what it was that drew him to her, but it was something that could easily be forgotten during a nice tumble through the sheets.

Or so he'd thought.

He'd met up with Adrias, and they'd found partners for the evening early on. However, even as he'd let his lady push him back onto her bed and climb on top of him, her nimble fingers working the buttons on his shirt with ease, his mind had flashed back to Amaeria.

He hadn't been able to go through with it.

Excusing himself, much to the flustered elf's surprise, he'd wound his way through the streets until he'd come to the square he had been supposed to meet Amaeria in. He'd known she wouldn't be there, but he'd had to check.

And then, to his surprise, she had been there. Sitting on one of the benches in a dress that made her look like a captured sunbeam sparkling on a deep pool of water.

Even as he'd started toward her, he'd seen the man beside her. He'd caught sight of Gryst'lyn, too. Their gazes had met and then he'd drawn Amaeria's attention to him and, in a breath, led her away. And she'd gone willingly, looping her arm in his as though they were a couple.

It made his blood boil even thinking about it.

That she could lead him on when she was already pledged to another….

Priests did that, didn't they? Pledge themselves? Why hadn't he ever thought to ask any of the ones he'd bedded in the past?

"Gryst'lyn!" Adrias gripped his shoulders so hard that his nails dug into Gryst'lyn's skin through his shirt. "Would you please just go do _some_ thing? Someone? It is painful to be around you these days. You don't pay attention or talk. All you do is sulk and deny the fact that your mind is so focused on some wretch you barely know that you can hardly even function. I doubt you'd be eating if I wasn't reminding you to!"

"I can't," Gryst'lyn whispered.

Taking a step back, Adrias' brow shot together. "Can't what?"

"If I take her…I won't be able to be without her," Gryst'lyn stared at Adrias. The fear he'd been trying to bury swelled up in his chest. "I don’t know why, but she's different. I can't… _commit_ to her, or I'll never be able to commit to anyone else again."

"This is a spell," Adrias frowned and looped his arm around Gryst'lyn's shoulders. "Talk to your father. He can remove curses, can he not? There is no way you could be so smitten after a five-minute conversation."

Gryst'lyn thought to offer that it hadn't even been that long, that it had been a single glance in her direction that had ensnared him so, but he didn't want to try to explain it to his companion.

With a slow nod, he finally patted Adrias’ hand and forced a smile that wavered and disappeared quickly. "I'll talk to my father."

Instantly, his friend's face relaxed, and he grinned. "Good." He paused before shrugging, a little too casually. "I miss you."

~?~

"I don’t want to hear it."

Gryst'lyn frowned where he stood in the doorway to his father's study. Magister Emberdawn was working diligently by crystal-light, the pale, shimmering light bathing his books and research in a soft blue glow. The older elf hadn't even looked up when he'd heard the door open.

Was he really that bad? As Gryst'lyn considered that he mostly did come to his father only when he needed hush money or to make sure some lass and her growing belly would be well cared for until he could prove he wasn't the father, he realized that _his_ father was glaring him down, seeing as he hadn't fled from his chambers immediately.

Shifting his weight, Gryst'lyn hesitated for a moment before walking forward and slouching into a seat across from his father near the desk. "I think someone's cast a spell on me. Or a curse. Or…something."

"Adrias?"

Gryst'lyn frowned when his father's first conclusion was to blame his best friend. Adrias might be a good many things, but he wasn't the type to stab a friend in the back. That was why he made a point of having so few—no need to tie his hands unnecessarily. "No, it wasn't him."

He watched as his father finished whatever sentence he was working on and then carefully laid his quill beside his parchment. Magister Emberdawn clasped his hands lightly in front of him and looked across the desk, eerily calm. "And I take it you wish me to remove whatever has been cast upon you?"

"I should hope so," Gryst'lyn murmured.

His father eyed him. "What are the symptoms?"

"There's this young lady—"

"Gryst'lyn Athoarel Emberdawn, do not waste my time," his father hissed and reached for his quill.

"I can't get her out of my mind," Gryst'lyn cried out in protest. "I barely even know her, but she's all I can think about. I can't…even stand to think of myself with another partner." His father's hand thudded against his desk as he stared at his son with wide eyes. "I…I don't know what to do. I want her out of my head, but the thought of never seeing her again feels like someone's imploding arcane crystals into my chest." Gryst'lyn ran his fingers through his brilliant hair. "Please, I can't take this. You have to get rid of it."

His father stared at him for a long, terrifyingly quiet moment where it seemed that so much as a breath would unravel the very world itself. Finally, his father let out a long, slow exhale, and Gryst'lyn was slightly unnerved that nothing seemed to have changed.

Well, except for the look in his father's eyes.

Magister Emberdawn looked as though he were torn between genuine joy and cruel amusement. He leaned his head into one of his hands, still watching the desperate expression draw lines across his son's usually confident, smooth face. "You're in love."

"I'm not," Gryst'lyn snapped, too quickly. "I just…it is a spell. You can remove it."

An alien look swept over Magister Emberdawn's features. He abruptly rose to his feet. "Alright. I'll help you." Even as Gryst'lyn shifted to the edge of his seat with an eager nod, his father walked over to one of his bookcases and pulled a small chest off of it. He rummaged through the vials and then pulled one from the midst. Turning, he walked swiftly to his son and offered it to him. "Drink this." When Gryst'lyn's face fell, he arched an eyebrow. "Find you a problem with my remedy?"

Gryst'lyn took the vial slowly, inspecting the pale liquid that swished around inside. "I'm just…surprised you would have something ready for something like this."

"When you have a dog of a son, it's best to be prepared."

Gryst'lyn couldn't argue against that logic. He started to raise the vial to his lips, but his father caught his hand. "There's more. Drink that, and let it run through your system for two days, at least. Then, and this is important, you must confront the object of your desire. When next you see her, your feelings for her will be gone."

Even as Gryst'lyn knocked back the drink, he felt unease gnawing at his gut. "And if they're not?"

"Then you're truly in love, and I haven't a thing that could remedy that."

With a nod and an uncharacteristic hug of his father, Gryst'lyn excused himself and hurried out of his study, nearly running headlong into his mother, who was just coming to demand her husband set aside his work for the night and come to bed. Between Gryst'lyn's man-whoring ways and her husband's workaholic nature, it was a wonder she ever saw either, so to see both in the span of a minute meant only one thing…her love was clearing up some mess for their wayward child.

However, Gryst'lyn had looked so happy. "Darling, what in the world—"

"The boy's in love," Magister Emberdawn grinned, stepping up to his wife and kissing her gently.

She arched an eyebrow, skeptical. "And he's pleased with this? I'd always thought he would flee from commitment, if he ever learned of it."

"Oh, he's trying," His father grinned. "I gave him a sleeping potion and sent him to bed. He'll have to work through this on his own."


	4. Chapter 4

Amaeria ran her fingers down the row of books, leaving a trail in the dust that clung to the spines. So few people looked into the Amani translations. Perhaps it was because there was such little information. It was odd considering they were practically neighbors.

She was going to have to go to the Farstriders and see about getting permission to view the Amani battle plans that they kept on record for training purposes. However, as late as it was, there was no way that they'd see her until the morning, so she might as well bury herself in whatever she could find for now.

It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

Prynn was back on her feet and tending to her tasks, allowing Amaeria to delve into her translations. Usually, she would have been elated, but ever since that day in the tailoring shop….

She frowned as she realized she was wondering what Gryst'lyn was doing. _Who_ he was doing was likely a more accurate speculation. After all, his reputation dictated that he'd sleep with just about anyone.

Anyone but her.

What was wrong with her? She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. She wasn't the prettiest elf to ever walk the city streets, she knew that, but still. Weren't Gryst'lyn's standards notoriously low? How was it that she hadn't met them?

Not that she wanted to get caught up with someone like him. No, it certainly wouldn't be becoming of a proper young priestess like herself. Aside from sleeping his way through town, he indulged himself in other earthly pleasures: drinking, gambling, drugs, idiotic stunts that left him battered and bruised on more than one occasion. He was reckless and careless with his life.

That was not something she needed in hers.

Though…to climb one of the spires just to see the city below—as he'd been rumored to do on multiple occasions—did have an odd sort of appeal to it. To see the world from a completely different view…

She frowned at the books in front of her and jerked a few of them from the shelf. She'd read through all of them if she had to, if it meant she'd figure out the older alphabet that the trollish text used—the first book in the collection had been written in the typical script, but the next one had been different. It was fascinating, though not quite enough to keep her mind from wandering…to _him_.

If she pushed herself enough, she'd focus.

How many times had it been now that she'd blinked to find that an hour or more had gone by with her just staring at one page, her mind wandering to dark red hair and mischievous eyes?

She wouldn't let it happen tonight. Progress would be made if it took her until dawn.

Pressing her stack of books into the ones still on lower shelves, she stacked a few more old tomes on top of the ones she already had. A few had little to do with trollish languages or cultures, but she could remember little references that might be worth reviewing. When she'd cleared the entire section, she did her best the grip the stack of books—without even thinking she'd been using one of her knees to help brace the bottom of the stack—and hoisted them up. They were heavier than she'd expected, and the books came up past her eye level. Even as they teetered in her arms, and she stumbled back a step, instantly regretting her zeal, an arm braced against her back at the same time that a hand came down on top of the stack, steadying it.

For a moment, she thought that Jaserisk had come by to seek her out again. He'd been doing that more and more of late. While she enjoyed his company, she couldn’t help but feel a little awkward around him, and she couldn't explain why.

However, even as she looked up, her mind blanked.

Those eyes she'd been daydreaming about stared back into hers.

"I believe you were taking these—" His smooth voice cut off in a sharp, pained cry as she panicked and dropped all of the books. They crashed down onto his toes and hers alike, though she barely felt it.

"I'm so, so—" She knelt beside him as he dropped after the books, clutching one of his feet. She cast a heal on him and then herself. Amaeria floundered as she held her hands just barely above his shoulders, as though touching him would only bring the both of them more pain. "So sorry…."

However, rather than glare angrily, or mutter a disgruntled comment, he merely leaned forward, laughing. She blinked once. Twice. It was so surprisingly gentle. With all the stories about him, she'd half expected a villainous cackle of some sort, yet instead his laughter was kind, good humored.

She wanted to laugh along with him, if only at the bizarreness of their second encounter. Even as she started to smile, her mind wandered back to what their second meeting was _supposed_ to have been, and her humor slipped. Trying to salvage her dignity there amidst the books strewn across the floor, she clasped her hands in her lap, shoulders straight and proud, chin up. "May I help you with something?"

His laughter died away, and he opened his eyes. She felt like her insides were melting, but she did her best to keep a poker face. Gryst'lyn reached out a hand and caught some of her long hair, letting his fingers trail through it as he drew the pale locks to him.

"I came to see you."

"Yet you couldn't be bothered to do so last week?" She forced herself to look away and began to busy herself with picking up the scattered books.

Amaeria heard the soft thud of leather hitting leather and glanced over to see that Gryst'lyn was gathering the books as well. He paused when his hand brushed over hers and held it. Her heart skipped a beat.

Still holding her hand, he lifted his, turning it so that hers was on top. With his other hand, he traced slow circles over the top of hers, sending shivers running through her. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No," she tried to sound angry, "you shouldn't have."

"I'm…having trouble with this," he murmured, frowning.

"Trouble with what?"

Rather than explain, he lifted his other hand and ran his fingers across her neck, pushing back her hair. His thumb brushed against her ear and he brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "This."

She took in a sharp breath, barely able to remember to breathe at all.

He let go of her hand and pushed aside the stack of books that was between them. The tomes toppled and a few pages crinkled, but she didn't notice. He'd breached the space between them so quickly.

The tips of their noses touched. However, he paused, his breath mingling with hers as her eyelashes feathered against her cheeks. "If you give me a second chance I don't know what will happen. Part of me wants to leave right—"

She kissed him.

For a moment, he was rigid, shocked. Then, he tilted his head ever so slightly, and his lips fit perfectly with hers. He cupped her face with both of his hands, and she pressed hers against his chest.

When she finally let herself sit back, he leaned after her, resting his forehead against hers. His fingers trailed down her arm, and she abruptly wished that her robe wasn’t in the way. The notion that this made no sense crossed her mind again, and, without thinking, she whispered her dispel. She had to have tried it almost twenty times since she'd looked it up the night after they'd first met—after Jaserisk had taken her back to the cathedral and bid her a good night.

Nothing happened, and Amaeria took in a weak breath. Gryst'lyn had leaned back. She blinked and looked up at him. One of his long eyebrows was arched as he frowned. "Was that a name?"

She frowned. "What?"

"What's the matter?" He caught her chin with his hand and lifted it up, leaning toward her again, but stopping short of kissing her. His eyes were half closed, but she could see that he was watching for her reaction. "Don’t tell me there's some jealous lover you're thinking of."

"Would I be less appealing if there wasn't?"

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. It was just…in the last week, she'd noticed the stories going around more so than before. She'd had a few elves drudge up old tales for her 'benefit', Lady Sunroost having apparently told a few of her customers that the dreaded Gryst'lyn had his sights on a pretty little priestess.

As Gryst'lyn rocked back to sit, one of his knees pressing ever so lightly against hers, a frown in place, Amaeria found her gaze wandering to the books. She slipped out of his grasp to pick up a few that had fallen open, the pages wrinkled. Once she'd rescued the ones in danger of damaging their pages, Amaeria leaned back against the bookshelf. She wished that Gryst'lyn would kiss her again, but he hadn't moved from where he was.

She met his gaze with hesitation. "Do you know a Lady Breezerunner?" His brow scrunched ever so slightly. With a shrug, she reached up to wind a lock of hair around her finger. "Because she certainly knows you."

"I would hardly say we know one another—"

"She described you in quite good detail," her cheeks flushed, and she inspected the pattern in the floor tiles. She'd never realized that it had been done to mimic the sun before, though she supposed it made a sort of sense that it would. "She's seen far more of you than I ever have."

"Would you like to see more of me?"

There was amusement in his voice, like this was a game. Amaeria frowned.

He seemed to catch his error, however. Finally sliding closer to her, he reached out and ran his fingers down her arm, stopping to close his hand around one of hers. "Yes, I know of Lady Breezerunner. She…I dallied with a few ladies before I met you."

She turned toward him as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. His touch was electric. "A few? Lady Breezerunner seems to think it was a lot more than a few."

She felt the soft hum in his throat where it rested against her shoulder, and he tightened his grip on her hand. Not enough to hurt, but enough to seem to reaffirm that they were still there, still talking. "I…" She could practically hear the gears working in his head as he tried to find a way to validate his constant philandering. It was all true then? All the stories, all the dalliances? He sat back up, closer to her. An earnest smile was on his face, making him look almost vulnerable as he spoke. "I haven't been with another woman since I met you."

"You met me a week ago."

"Nine days, really," Gryst'lyn retorted. He slipped his arm around her waist, and she found herself leaning into him, despite it all. "but…that's a really long time for me." She stilled. "I mean, I typically have sex at least once or twice a day, more if you count the occasional quicky—"

Amaeria pushed herself away from him, eyes wide. While she'd been longing to see him again, she couldn't say that she expected their conversation to go like this. To get to the subject of sex _so_ quickly. It was… She stared at him, suddenly doubting his motivations. Had this been a slow night in which he decided to see if the little priestess he'd met was still smitten with his charm and good looks?

"Is that why you're here?" Her voice was a mere whisper, and for an instant she wasn't sure if she'd even spoken loud enough to be heard.

His ears perked up. "I wouldn't be against it if you wanted to…"

Amaeria didn't bother hiding the disgust that bubbled up inside of her. She moved to untangle herself from him, wondering who in their right mind would proposition a priestess in the cathedral. In the library, next to sacred texts…where just anyone could walk up and see, no less.

As she started to gather the books to at least put back on the shelf—there was no way she'd get any translating done tonight, not after this—he picked up the one she was reaching for. "Come now. Those other women didn't mean anything—"

"And you expect me to believe that I do?" She turned to meet his gaze, pointedly. Whatever this feeling was, it wasn't a typical spell, but that didn't mean that he wasn't doing it somehow. That she could be so swayed by this…that she wanted so much to accept anything he told her and take him home and curl up with him…

This wasn't the true love she'd always daydreamed about since she was young.

"You don't even know me."

He caught both of her hands and laced his fingers with hers, holding them firmly between the two, as though he would fall away to nothing if he lost contact with her. She shivered at his touch. "You feel it don't you?" He gave her a pleading look. "I've never felt anything like this before—"

"Not even when you were nine?"

The look on his face…it was as though he was a child who'd just been caught sneaking sweets before dinner. He tensed, still gripping her hands in his, his face awhirl with different emotions as he tried to decide how to react.

She felt her heart sink. If he was able to be this calculated with her, that meant it was all an act, didn't it? Everyone who'd heard of her little 'crush' had been quick to warn her away from him, Prynn and her parents included.

Jaserisk had been the only one to never bring it up, and she'd been grateful for that. It was so oddly calming to think of him now, of all times.

"Listen to me," he began, but she shook her head.

"Admit it. You're here because you want to…you know." She felt heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks and ears. Why did she always have to get so flustered around him? He stared at her blankly, uncomprehending. She dropped her voice to a hiss, half expecting the light to expel her from the cathedral for voicing her next words, "Have sex."

"Yes…" he said the word slowly, obviously unsure where this was going. Indignant that he obviously didn't have an issue with holy ground or public indecency, she tried to jerk her hands free. "But that's not all that I want from you. I want…" He trailed off, a strange look of realization taking hold of him. "I want all of you. Not just your body."

As soon as he said it, he let go of her hands. He turned so that his back was flat against the bookshelf behind them and stared into space, unmoving. Apparently his new truth had meant even more to him than it had to her. She rested her hand on his arm, feeling the muscles beneath the cloth of his shirt. She'd been ready to argue that quite a few ladies had claimed that he'd say anything to get someone into his bed, but this didn't seem right. Perhaps she was as naïve as everyone assumed her to be, but this didn't feel like a ploy.

"I went to my father," Gryst'lyn murmured, drawing his legs up and resting one arm across his knees. He didn't move the one she was holding. "I was sure this was a curse or…diving vengeance of some sort." He closed his eyes. "I was sure this couldn’t be…whatever it is that this is. But I can't…be with other women. I used to love their touch, the feel of their bodies intertwined with mine, the smell of sweat and…" as he kept going, Amaeria was certain that all of her blood was in her ears. He certainly had a way with details. "But now…" He turned to look at her, terrified and puzzled. "Now they seem dull in comparison. Now they chatter and flirt, and all I can do is wish that they were you." He leaned his head back against the bookshelf, his crimson hair tussled and falling over his shoulders. "I didn't want to see you again because whatever this is frightens me. I don't want to need someone like I need you."

Amaeria was surprised by how much his last words stung. Even so, she sat back against the bookshelf, shoulder to shoulder with him. She rested her legs straight out in front of her, her plain robe bunching up around her calves to show off equally plain boots. She flexed her toes slowly. "I know what you mean. This is…very strange."

He let out a 'humph', as though indignant that she needed to agree with him.

"You know, I was certain it was some kind of spell you'd cast on me," she offered, tilting her head a little toward him as she absently read the titles of the books on the shelves across the way. "I even dug through my old notes and found my dispel. Whatever this is, it isn't magic."

"Not magic and not a curse," Gryst'lyn murmured. She glanced his way to see that he was watching her again. With a helpless shrug, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Whatever shall we do then?"

"Perhaps," Amaeria inspected her nails, wondering if what she was about to say was foolish or not. Likely, it was. She reached out and ran her fingers over the top of his hand, which he turned palm up so that she could clasp it. "Perhaps we could start with a dinner where we both actually show up?"


	5. Chapter 5

Gryst'lyn trotted through the halls of the cathedral, ignoring the startled stares when a few of the elves of the light recognized him and wondered why in the world he had flowers and such a giddy grin.

Amaeria had said that she normally worked on translating older texts to Thalassian, and on occasion she translated other languages, including Zandali. He'd asked if she'd ever had battle plans from the troll tribes to the south brought to her for translation, but she'd simply blushed and quickly said that there were plenty of better versed scholars for such work.

After putting away the books on the shelf she'd gotten them from, he'd walked with her through the empty halls as she went to lock up the study she used. She'd shown him the tome she was translating, and he'd played with her hair as she shuffled papers and sealed ink wells.

While she'd busied herself, she'd asked him questions, and it had been oddly refreshing to talk to a lady, rather than simply bed her. She'd talked a little about different spells referenced in the texts, and he'd confessed that magic had always eluded him.

She'd playfully asked him what he did besides having sex. He was certain that she'd been pleasantly surprised to know he practiced with a two handed sword, though it had taken him a few minutes to convince her that for once he wasn't using euphemisms. Amaeria had been so embarrassed when she'd realized he was actually being serious about fighting techniques, and he'd teased that she had a dirtier mind than he did.

She'd tried to tell a few dirty jokes, but they'd been so painfully bad that he'd laughed anyway.

They'd gone to three different restaurants. Gryst'lyn had been thrown out of the first two, first by an angry father and then a jilted fiancé. At the third, they'd gotten there just as the establishment closed.

Though he'd worried that Amaeria would be disappointed, she hadn't seemed to care one bit. He'd offered to take her home with him, so that he could get one of his family's cooks to whip something up, but she'd declined. No one needed to be woken on her account.

So instead he'd walked her home. He'd been in the neighborhood a few times on other eves with other ladies, but he barely noticed the familiar houses.

The whole evening had been like a dream. They'd told childhood stories—real ones—and asked one another questions, all while holding hands like school children. It had all been so…innocent.

Even the end, when he'd stood on her stoop. Despite wanting to invite himself inside, she'd turned to him, risen up on her toes, and kissed him gently before wishing him good night and disappearing inside.

As soon as she was gone, he'd felt so lonely out there. He'd almost knocked to beg her to let him in, but then, she _had_ promised to see him again.

He glanced down at the bouquet in his hand. It pretty much went through a full array of colors and types of flowers. He hadn't known what kind she might like and hadn't wanted to get her the one thing she wasn't fond of.

Avoiding eye contact with an older woman he'd spent a weekend with a few months back, he slipped down the corridor that led to the study she'd been working in. While they'd planned to meet in an hour, he thought that in the worst case, he could just sit with her and perhaps discuss plans for the evening while she worked.

His step faltered as he neared the door, realizing that she would probably need to concentrate if she was translating. He hadn't considered that.

However, his body had propelled him through the door, and he stopped short as he saw Amaeria on the other side of the room.

A window, filled with the gentle red and orange light slipping through the leaves beyond accented her frame, and he thought she looked most heavenly. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she stood attentive, pointing at a few papers before her.

Gryst'lyn paused when she looked up at him in surprise. A smile flashed across her face before someone murmured something, and she looked to the side. Gryst'lyn followed her gaze, his earlier elation dissipating somewhat.

She was in the company of two men. One wore a grander version of her robes, intricate gold and red patterns stitched into his white robes. His hair was brown, with gray streaking through it at the temples.

The other man was the one he'd seen her with the night he'd stood her up. His leathers looked fresher than they had before, and his hair hung free down his back, a few locks falling over his shoulder as he inspected the papers before them with idle interest.

As the men looked to the doorway, their good humor vanished.

The priest slipped past the desk Amaeria had been working at and walked up to Gryst'lyn, a warm smile in place, though it didn't quite reach his pale eyes. "Gryst'lyn Emberdawn, isn't it?" When Gryst'lyn confirmed it, he nodded. "You look a lot like your father."

"I suppose that's true," Gryst'lyn shrugged, a bit puzzled.

"I am Heshurai Golddawn, Grand Cleric of Silvermoon," the priest bowed. Gryst'lyn returned the nicety, unsure why the man was affording him so much attention. The priest was either a fool or chose to be oblivious with his next comment. He motioned toward Gryst'lyn's flowers. "Oh my, are those for me?"

Gryst'lyn's ears flattened back a little, despite his attempt to stay cordial. "My apologies, sir. If I'd known I'd be meeting the Grand Cleric and that he fancied flowers, I'd have brought a second bouquet."

Even as he tried to step around the elf, the cleric caught him by the shoulders and led him out of the room and down the hall. "I'm sorry to say that Miss Amaeria will be working late tonight."

As the elf touched his shoulders, Gryst'lyn felt something wash over him.

A spell?

He tried not to shudder, instead inspecting the elf beside him with a guarded expression. What was he up to? Gryst'lyn tried to think if he felt different, perhaps more empowered. Priests were supposed to be able to do something with fortitude, weren't they?

Not liking being so close to someone so important of the light—he felt like he was going to be struck down for all his wile-y ways any second—he tried to excuse himself to go home. He suddenly felt so tired.

The Grand Cleric would have none of it. "I need to speak with your father, my boy. I'm afraid I don't remember the way to your estate. Care to wash away a few of your minor sins with an act of generosity?"

~?~

Grand Cleric Heshurai nodded to Gryst'lyn as they stopped in front of Magister Emberdawn's study, though the reckless young elf didn't notice. He merely tossed his flowers onto a decorative table and stumbled down the hall, barely able to stay on his feet.

Gryst'lyn didn't remember making his way to his room, but suddenly he was being shaken roughly on the shoulder. With a gasp, he shoved himself up, a bit of drool sticking his pillow to his lip. His hair was wild and uncombed, and just past the unkempt locks, Adrias stared down at him with wide eyes.

Even as Gryst'lyn tried to put his muddled thoughts in order, Adrias squatted down beside his bed, an amused, triumphant look in place. "So it was a spell, then?"

"What?"

"This…" Adrias motioned to Gryst'lyn, and the elf wished he would move slower. Everything felt so convoluted. "This is a spell's backlash if ever I saw one."

Frowning, Gryst'lyn sat up, glancing around the room. As he thought back to the past few days, he thought of Amaeria and stilled. There was no dire need to be near her coursing through him. There was no desperate fog, forcing all other thoughts from his mind.

By the nether, he'd completely forgotten about her.

It occurred to him that he could likely lose himself in his usual evening activities without giving the little priestess a second thought.

Adrias seemed to read his mind. "Come on. I'll help you into something presentable, and we'll hit the town. It's been lonely this last week…"

~?~

Gryst'lyn watched Adrias storm off down the street, muttering in something that he was fairly certain wasn't Thalassian. When had Adrias become bilingual? And what gutteral, vulgar language was that? Just the pieces he'd heard hurt his ears. There was power in those words.

Forcing his mind away, he turned toward the small house he stood in front of. He'd been rather surprised he'd been able to remember how to get here, having only been the once. It took him a moment to find his resolve before he walked up and knocked on the door.

He heard a few scuffling noises from inside, and then the door opened. Amaeria stood there, staring up at him with wide eyes. The dark circles beneath them implied that she'd been going through the same muddled backlash. Her white-blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders as she skidded to a halt, halfway through a welcome before she realized it was him.

"May I come inside?" Gryst'lyn asked, motioning past her.

She took a few steps back, haphazardly combing her fingers through her hair as though that alone would make her more presentable. She was in a loose nightgown, her slender form lost beneath the plain cloth.

They stood there in her small foyer for a moment, before she finally motioned to a side room and stepped in. He followed her into the kitchen, where she was heating some water in a teakettle. A cup rested on the counter, and she hurriedly pulled another from the cupboard.

"You said you couldn't dispel it."

"I couldn't…" she whirled toward him, looking a bit paler than usual. "Well, I couldn't on me." Her ears drooped, and she leaned back against the counter. "I didn't even think it'd be different for you." Even as he narrowed his eyes, she set the cup down and pulled the kettle from the stove. As she poured the water, the steam rose up around her hands. "Grand Cleric Heshurai said that whoever cast this used a spell on you so that your father couldn't remove it and a curse on me so that I couldn't dispel it. That way, it wouldn't be so obvious that it was magic at work."

"Except that we both knew it was," Gryst'lyn pointed out. He could still remember sitting next to her in the library, shoulder to shoulder.

She mixed the tea leaves around in the water and then handed him a cup. He took it graciously and paused when their fingers brushed. That overwhelming need for contact was gone. Slipping past him, she took a seat at a small table. He sat across from her, idly swishing his tea in his cup. They sat there for a moment, in silence.

"Your father was kind enough to come to the cathedral and remove the spell from me," Amaeria whispered. She was holding the cup to her lips, though she hadn't taken a sip yet. The steam wound up lazily in front of her face as she stared off into space.

"He probably didn't want you coming by the manor in some magical induced obsession," Gryst'lyn muttered. Even as he said it, he frowned and shrugged a little. "Nothing against you. He just doesn't like having to clean up my messes."

"You've no idea who would do this?"

"I wouldn't be sitting here if I did," Gryst'lyn retorted. He set his cup down and leaned on the table, pointing at her. "And how do we know they weren't trying to get back at _you_ for something?"

"Yes, because I'm _such_ a homewrecker." Amaeria rolled her eyes. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and Gryst'lyn suddenly wanted to see her smile again.

He sat back, a coy grin slipping into place. "Well, you must be for someone to be that angry. I bet all you have to do is flutter your eyelashes, and half the priests will do anything for you."

She let out a disbelieving laugh before shaking her head. "Oh dear. You've discovered my secret. How _ever_ will I rise to power now that you know?"

"I suppose I could be persuaded to keep my mouth shut." He reached out and trailed his fingers down her arm.

She batted his hand away, rolling her eyes and lounging back in her chair. "Mother did tell me not to let you in my house."

It was his turn to laugh. "Me? I've nothing but the noblest of intentions."

"Oh, I'm sure," Amaeria arched her eyebrows with mock seriousness. "You're nothing but a misunderstood gentleman who doesn't deserve the poor reputation he's received."

"I'm glad someone has finally seen the truth of it," he replied. He took a sip of his tea and then gasped, nearly dropping the cup as he reached up with his free hand to rub his throat. "What in the twisting nether is this monstrosity?"

Amaeria was next to him in an instant, offering him a glass of plain water. Even as he downed it in a single gulp, trying to wash away the foul taste in his mouth, she had his cup, peering into it, puzzled. "I know I brewed it correctly…" As he made a few more sputtering noises, she frowned. "Would you not? It's not that bad."

"Forgive me, but I didn't know one could mess up _tea_ so horrifically."

Amaeria took his cup from him and walked it over to the counter. "I'm not good at cooking."

"That's not even cooking."

"Well—" Amaeria cut herself off and then turned back to him, clearly annoyed. "If you'd like to do better, by all means."

"I will," Gryst'lyn rose from his chair and went over to the kettle. He tested its weight and then looked around for more water. After she'd shown him where to find the important things in her kitchen, he set the water to boiling again and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Amaeria had quietly slipped back to the table to try her own tea, and she made a face as the liquid hit her tongue. She scowled when she noticed that he'd caught her.

As she delicately disposed of the offending brew, he watched her, his mouth twisted so that he wouldn't outright laugh. When she moved, her night gown occasionally caught on her form to reveal a hint of her curves, and he found it oddly alluring.

"You know, I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose," Gryst'lyn said, tapping a finger against the stubble on his chin. He made a mental note to shave when he got home. "What was that story you told me? Where you were a youngling and decided to bake your father a cake?"

Amaeria ran a hand down her face as she walked over to wait with him by the counter. "By the light, you remember that?"

"Well, you were so adorable when you told me, it was hard to forget."

"That was different," she professed, a bit of red touching her cheeks. It was the first time she'd blushed since the curse had been removed. "I was little. I'd forgotten half the ingredients and—"

The teakettle went off.

She reached for in instinctually, but Gryst'lyn lightly batted her hand away. "Let me do this…" He paused and opened the cupboard he'd seen her get the cup from earlier. "Let us start fresh so that poison you made doesn't taint this…"

With a light thwack to his arm, she leaned back against her counter, gaze on his hands as he placed the tea leaves into the cups after biting one to make sure they hadn't somehow gone bad and then poured the water over them. "Are you always so domestic with your partners?"

"Are we partners now?"

That flush he was so used to seeing crept up her ears. "I just meant…"

He blew on a cup and then offered it to her, grinning as she delicately wrapped her fingers around it. He poured himself a cup and sipped on it. "This is how tea is supposed to taste."

Puzzled, she stepped up closer, eyeing her tea kettle and then her drink. "This makes no sense. I did the exact same thing."

"Aha!" Gryst'lyn pointed at her. "You _were_ the target for the malicious mischief we suffered!"

"How do you figure?"

"You're obviously under another curse as well; one that makes anything you make turn into something wretched." As she rolled her eyes up to give him an unappreciative frown, he leaned down and kissed her.

Just as he set his tea onto the counter and ran his hand up her arm to her neck, his other hand clasped hers. She jumped.

And suddenly his hand was burning.

With a curse, he pulled away from her, favoring his fingers, where steam still rose from them.

"I'm so sorry!" Her cup clattered against the counter as she tossed it there. Light bloomed to life around her hands as she cupped his. Warmth washed over him, extending through his body and making some of the leftover weariness from before seep out of him. It had the opposite effect on Amaeria.

He caught her around the waist as she teetered, her exhaustion catching up with her abruptly. She leaned her head against his shoulder as she let her breathing even out. He rubbed her back gently, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"The spell is gone." Her words were so faint he almost missed them.

He lifted his head and looked down at her as she met his gaze. He nodded. "I know."

For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it, but she lightly rested her hand against his chest, curling her fingers against his shirt so that the cloth bunched up between them. "It's gone. The compulsion. But still…" she looked away. "I still want you around."

"Good. I'd like to stick around."

He leaned forward and kissed her neck, lightly tugging on the strap of her nightgown so that he could pepper her shoulder with kisses as well. As he lifted his head and met her lips, her fingers slid to the buttons on his shirt, and he helped her with them, suddenly so ready to have his clothes scattered across the floor.

Part of him said that it had merely been too long that he'd gone without the pleasures of the skin.

Another part of him whispered that he was simply glad that it was her and not some random elf he'd picked up in a tavern.

He laced his fingers with hers and let her lead him upstairs.

~?~

Amaeria groaned as she woke up. Why did she feel like she could sleep a month and still be completely and utterly exhausted? Granted, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, but never the less…

As she rolled over, an arm flinging out into the rumpled sheets around her, she rubbed her forehead, summoning the memories from the night before. In a breath, her eyes snapped open, and she stared up at the stippled ceiling overhead. Despite every warning she'd received, despite the spell being dispersed, she'd slept with one of the most notorious players in all of Silvermoon.

She hadn't felt compelled to be near him. She hadn't _needn't_ him.

She'd wanted him.

And he'd wanted her, hadn't he?

Amaeria looked to one side of her bed and then the other. The morning light was slipping through her curtains and brightening the room.

She was alone.

Even as she drudged up the energy to sit, half wanting to cry that she'd been so, so very stupid, she heard something clink from downstairs. Her ears perked up.

Barely taking the time to throw on a casual robe—not something she'd ever go out in public in—she raced down the hall, her feet hardly making any noise. She nearly tripped down the stairs as she took them two at a time. When she finally skidded to a halt in the doorway to her kitchen, she froze.

There, his body accented with the morning light just peeking through the window, stood Gryst'lyn. He was tending the stove and cooking something. She sniffed.

Bacon? Did she even have that?

However, even that marvel quickly slipped from her mind. His long, crimson hair fell freely down his bare back, ending just above his naked rear.

Of course he wasn't wearing any clothes.

She must have gasped or made some little noise, for his ears pricked, and he glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her, he gave her a wide grin. "I was going to surprise you."

Amaeria stepped slowly into the kitchen, circling around so that she stood beside him. Sure enough, he was cooking bacon. And eggs. He used a pan to flip the eggs.

"I'm surprised you wouldn't want an apron or something to, um, protect yourself." When he gave her a puzzled look, her gaze flitted downward toward his manhood. Quickly, she turned away and found her apron. When she came back to him, he was grinning broadly, though he didn't poke fun at her shyness with any comments about the night before. He looked ridiculous wearing that apron, the ties hanging against his well shaped butt.

Ridiculous and perfect.

She blinked as he began humming. "Isn't this usually the part where you go home?"

He nearly missed the eggs as he flipped them again, turning his attention to her. She wanted to rub her fingers against his goatee and the stubble marching up his chin. "And leave a poor little creature such as yourself to fend for yourself this early in the morning?"

"We live in a city, not the wild."

"Cities are their own kind of wild." He motioned with his chin for the plates he'd set out beside him, and she held them out, praying that she wouldn't drop anything today. After he'd slid the bacon and eggs into place, he took the plates from her, almost as though he'd read her mind. She trailed after him to the table. Before they could sit down, she darted back to her cooler for juice.

Skeptic as he was when she handed it to him, he took a sip and then grinned at her scowl. "Not squeezed at home, I take it."

"You know, just because I messed up tea doesn't mean I'm horrible at everything in the kitchen." She sat next to him, trying to be disgruntled. Even so, she was happy that he was there. She couldn't even place why.

For a second, she considered that perhaps this was another spell, but it didn't feel the same as before.

"No, no. Of course. I'm being horribly biased."

"You know, I could be biased against you."

"A little late for that, my dear lady," he retorted. As he bit into his bacon, he ran his foot up her leg. "How long do I have you for today?"

"I'm sorry?" She nearly choked on her drink.

Motioning to her, Gryst'lyn rested his chin in his hand and inspected her. "I'd figure an upstanding citizen such as yourself would have duties to fulfill. Perhaps translations that require more immediate attention than some degenerate you foolishly let into your home?"

"The grand cleric told me to take the next few days off to recover from the backlash of that curse," Amaeria shrugged lightly. She caught a lock of her hair and began to wind it around her finger, only to pause and frown when she realized that in her earlier hurry she'd forgotten to brush her hair.

They ate their meal in a comfortable silence. Every time their skin brushed against one another, fingers, toes, legs, she felt a trill run through her. It wasn't like before. Before had, in retrospect, seemed oddly forced. Now, it was so…right.

When they'd finished, Gryst'lyn scooted his chair closer to her and leaned against the table. "So then, if you've nothing to do, and I've nothing to do, perhaps we can find some mutually inclusive activities to occupy our time?"

"Well, I do need to go shopping…" She paused as he doubled over laughing. It took her a moment before her cheeks warmed enough to likely match the color of his hair. "Oh, you meant sex."

"We can do both," Gryst'lyn said, propping his head up in his hand, his fingers curling over his face and half obscuring his mouth. "Anything you want."

"What if I wanted you to clean out my gutters?" She pointed toward her window as though to stress that her comment hadn't been innuendo.

"Why not. Though I don't think your neighbors would appreciate a naked elf on your roof."

"You could always put pants on."

"I _could_." He hesitated, still watching her. "And would if you asked me to, I suppose."

Eyeing him, Amaeria arched her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair. "Really? You're just going to agree to whatever I want to do?"

"Why not? I have a certain fondness for your company."

"You know, quite a few ladies said that you'll say anything to get what _you_ want."

"And what do I want?" Gryst'lyn caught her arm and pulled her from her chair into his lap. He slipped his hand into her robe so that he could rest his palm on her thigh. His thumb stroked her skin. When she didn't answer, he nuzzled her neck. "For the record, that's not true." She slipped her arms around his shoulders and nipped his ear playfully. She felt him smile.

"If you say so."

He lifted his head and met her eyes. "It's not. I've never given a lady a false promise or compliment. I might weave a tale or two to influence her emotions later, but I never use trickery to get someone _into_ bed."

"Well, wouldn't I fit into that category then? We've already been…together."

With a laugh, he kissed her. "There is that…though I'd rather not have you second guessing my intentions the rest of the day."

"Well then, what are your intentions?"

Though he'd opened his mouth to reply instantly, he paused. Straightening up in his seat, he tilted his head, staring off into space for a moment before abruptly shrugging. "I don't actually know. Can we just enjoy each other's company and not worry about what it means?"

As she tried to figure out what exactly he meant, the sound of a key in her front door caught her attention, and her ears perked up, as did his. There was only one other person with a key to her house.

Prynn.

Even as she tried to get up to meet her friend before she came in, the door burst open and boots clacked against the foyer's tiled floor.

"Amae, are you up yet?" Prynn called out. "I brought breakfast if you—"

She'd been halfway past the doorway when she'd happened a glance inside, and she stopped, mid-step. Her voluminous, wild orange hair poked out around her face as she grew still. Unblinking, she took in Amaeria sitting on a mostly naked man's lap.

For an excruciating moment, no one said anything. Finally, Gryst'lyn slipped his hand out from Amaeria's robe and waved. "Hi, there."


	6. Chapter 6

Gryst'lyn groaned as the morning light washed over his face. His brow twitched together, and he started to bring an arm up to sling over his face. Amaeria always left her house so early, even if they'd spent the entire night preoccupied. How she managed to find the energy to even get up before the sun was beyond him.

They'd been in whatever this was for just over a month. In that month, he had surprised even himself with the fact that he hadn't strayed from her. There was once when an elf he'd been with before had caught him as he was leaving his manor. She'd hung off his arm and whispered the various things she'd wanted to do to him. Before, he would have jumped at the opportunity, but somehow, even without that damnable spell, he didn't want anyone else.

Amaeria had a quiet way of looking at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. It was so…affectionate. So gentle. It was as though she couldn't see the darkness writhing inside of him. It was as though she had found something pure in those depths and was slowly coaxing it out of hiding, one day at a time.

Every now and then, he thought of a future with her, and he found that more and more, that didn't scare him.

Granted, he wouldn’t say anything, lest his resolve waver.

The light was still dancing across his face.

Groggy, he frowned as he tried to move his arm again and realized that something was weighing it down. With a blink, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. Amaeria was still curled up next to him, one arm slung across his chest, her head on his shoulder. Her hair was tussled and fell haphazardly around her shoulders and the sheets. He could barely see his hand against the small of her back. He drummed his fingers against her skin, and she groaned and curled closer into him.

He glanced toward the window. The sun was well up in the sky. Pricking his ears, he could hear birds chirping and people walking about the streets.

"Amae," He murmured, bringing his free hand up to her face and brushing back some of her hair. "You're going to be—" He glanced at the window again. "You're late for work."

"No, I'm not," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He arched an eyebrow and then scratched at his goatee. Finally, he shifted himself, pulling his arm out from under her and sitting up. She shivered and snuggled deeper into her sheets.

"Come back to bed."

"It's not like you to be irresponsible," Gryst'lyn murmured. He tried to think of what made women act strange.

She wasn't pregnant, was she?

Even as he considered it, paling, he looked down and saw that she'd turned her head enough so that she could peek up at him. They held one another's gazes for a moment before she finally sighed and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She combed her fingers through her hair slowly. "I don't have anywhere I have to be today."

"I didn't know that priests got days off," Gryst'lyn stated, reaching out and pulling her to him. When she was in his lap, he grinned. "You could have told me. I would have let you sleep."

"I…thought I'd surprise you, I guess," Amaeria shrugged. She nestled up against him, smiling against his chin.

With a smile of his own, he fell back into bed, drawing her down with him.

~?~

"Where's the beast?"

Amaeria frowned and glanced at her doorway. Prynn leaned there, her thin arms crossed across her ample bosom. With a sigh, she went back to cleaning her living room. It was so dusty…probably because she was hardly in it anymore. She paused, wondering if Gryst'lyn had ever seen it in all his visits. "He doesn't live here, you know."

"He might as well," Prynn retorted without hesitation. "Amae, you've…maybe this is because you've always been pretty smart about things, but this is stupid. This pretty much covers all the years we've known each other and makes you even with my every idiotic moment."

Amaeria ignored her, instead lifting a small trinket she'd gotten during her years at the priesthood. She weighed it in her hand for a minute, remembering the way her father had hugged her when it'd been awarded to her. She was following in his footsteps, and he'd been so proud.

The last time she'd seen him, he hadn't looked proud at all.

"They're not going to let you come back so long as you're with him. Too many of our richer patrons want to see him suffer," Prynn pressed. She was standing next to Amaeria now, a hand reached out to tentatively clasp Amaeria's. Amaeria brushed the dust off the old thing and set it down, moving on to another shelf. "What about Jaserisk? He's a decent guy. He doesn't have money, but—"

"You think I'm with Gryst'lyn for his money?" Anger curled inside of Amaeria, and she whirled on her friend, breaking a small glass flower into pieces as she clenched her fist. With a curse, she sunk onto the nearest chair, picking the shards out of her hand so that she could heal it.

Prynn was next to her in a breath, batting Amaeria's hand away so that she could pick the shards out instead. She'd always had a better eye for such little things. "That's not what I was saying."

"It sounded like it," Amaeria whispered, suddenly feeling defeated. She watched the blood trickling down the sides of her palm, surprisingly numb. "That's what everyone else is saying."

"You had to have known when you started sleeping with him that he'd have enemies," Prynn murmured. Her eyebrows furrowed as she carefully pulled out another shard and dropped it onto the dust rag in Amaeria's lap. "Granted, I wouldn't have expected them to rally together like they did, much less take their anger out on _you_. …Though I suppose it does make a sort of sense."

Amaeria started to clench her fist again, but let out a soft cry as a few of the shards dug in deeper. Prynn lightly thwacked her arm, and she relaxed it again. As she watched her friend work, she ran her free hand's fingers through her hair, exasperated. "This will blow over. They just need time to vent."

"And in the time it takes, say, Lord Darksun to get over his ruined home life and the fact that his kids hate him because he called their mother a whore at her birthday party, or Lady Nimbleray to get over how she was disowned for breaking her fiancé's heart and bringing shame to her family, how are you going to pay your rent?" Prynn leaned closer to her palm, tilting it one way and then the other. Sitting back with a grin, she murmured a quick heal and looked back up at Amaeria. "Is Gryst'lyn paying your bills?"

"No! I already told you: I'm not with him for his money," Amaeria objected.

Prynn tilted her head, inspecting her friend's face carefully. Her jaw dropped. "You haven't even told him, have you? That you were taken off the translation. That you were kicked out of the cathedral until you leave him."

"I wasn't kicked out—"

"I was there. The grand cleric told you that you needn't come back until you'd decided to make wiser life choices. That's priest speak for 'Get the fuck out'…" She gave Amaeria a little grin. "You have been gone a long time if you don't remember how polite we priests are when we're being mean. Let me remind you, the bigger, colder the smile, the bitchier the intent behind whatever words spill out of those lips."

With a short laugh, Amaeria carefully rose to her feet and hurried to her kitchen to wash the drying blood from her hand. When she was done, she peered behind her to see how much she'd bled on her carpet. She could see a few drops from where she stood and sighed, wetting a rag and leaving the dusting one on the counter with the glass shards still on it.

Prynn grabbed a rag of her own and went back with her, picking a different spot to scrub. "If they kick you out of here, you can stay with me." She paused, holding up a hand to cut off Amaeria's thank you, "But, listen. My walls are really thin, and I'm not gonna be kept up all night listening to you two. If you wanna get it on, you'll have to go to his place."

"I have enough money saved up that I should be able to keep this place for another month or two," Amaeria offered, moving on to the next blood droplet. She paused when she realized that her skirt had a few drops as well. She started dabbing at them. "I don’t think this could actually last that long—"

"You realize he's probably ruined a hundred homes, right?" Prynn asked, still diligently going about her task. "That's actually a bit more than a hundred people lined up to make him miserable. And since he doesn't seem to be affected by anything, that means they're all coming for you. One after another."

"My rent did go up already," Amaeria murmured. "Apparently he slept with my landlord's daughters once upon a time and left them broken hearted. Since I expressed that I didn't want to tell Gryst'lyn not to come by, they decided to charge me for having a roommate, even though he's not here _that_ often. Well…he has been staying over more, but…ugh. And I've been told not to come back to a few different shops." Her ears flushed. "I even had a shopkeeper point out the merchandise stand where Gryst'lyn and his wife of fifty years broke her vows."

"Well then, I guess it really was for the best."

Amaeria froze. Then, ever so slowly, she looked up at Prynn. Her friend was still working on a few remaining blood spots on her carpet. "What's for the best?"

"I took a letter to Magister Emberdawn. I'd sent a few before that, but it turns out that there is a very angry postal worker who was making sure they weren't getting to their destination. I had to hand deliver it to the elf."

"Prynn, what did you do?"

"I told him that you were a good elf who didn't deserve to be treated so ill." She frowned at the floor and put her weight into one of the larger crimson stains. "He thought I was you for a minute. I straightened that out, though."

"I haven't even met him yet!"

"Do you think you're going to?" Prynn abruptly sat back. "Do you think Gryst'lyn will actually take you home? Marry you?" She hesitated and then clasped her hands together, honest concern on her features. "His longest dalliance was six months. Some people say it might have been something real, but the lady broke it off because of this sort of nonsense." Prynn paused, eyes rolling up so as though she were inspecting the ceiling. "And because he was cheating on her with her sister."

Amaeria groaned and ran her fingers over her face. "I know that he did all these things…he doesn't even deny it. Sometimes I ask him about these stories, and he sounds almost proud of what he's done."

"Who he's done." When Amaeria glared at Prynn, she held her hands up. "That was a cheap shot; I'm sorry."

Amaeria went back to scrubbing the spots on her floor, giving up on her skirt. "It's…frustrating." She focused on the stained carpet with more vigor when she felt Prynn's curious gaze upon her. "We talk about everything, and most of the time, he's wonderful. But then we get on the subject of sex, and…I love him, but he's a little twisted." When Prynn didn't say anything, she put more weight into her scrubbing. "I mean, he's proud that he ruined homes. What sense does that make?"

"Amae…"

"It's strange. When I point out that he's hurt people, he looks surprised, like he somehow never thought of it like that," She finally sat back. The rug had been saved, and her arm ached. "Sometimes I wonder how he could _not_ know these things. Perhaps he's just overly arrogant…? Though, again, he doesn't act so terrible when we're together. He can be quite the gentleman—" She cut herself off, furrowing her brow as Prynn continued to stare at her. "By the Light, what is it? Have a grown a third eye?"

"Amae, you said you love him."

~?~

"Have a seat," Magister Emberdawn motioned to the seat across from him on the opposite side of his desk.

Gryst'lyn chose to stand behind the empty chair, though his gaze kept sliding toward the elf seated beside him: Grand Cleric Golddawn. He'd been about to head over to Amaeria's to pick her up for dinner when his father had stopped him and demanded he come have a talk. Generally, these things didn't go over very well.

However, generally, it was because some trollop was after him for being the father of her child, when he knew he wasn't. He used protection—most of the time—and he had faith in Adrias' spells.

He offhandedly considered he would need to swing by Adrias' home to visit at some point. He hadn't seen him in over a week. No doubt, his caster companion was missing him at this point.

"Now that we're all present," his father began, a thin smile in place. Rather than letting into Gryst'lyn, however, he instead turned to the grand cleric. "I have heard a rather troubling rumor, my good sir, that a young priestess is being punished for my son's idiocy."

Even as the grand cleric sighed and leaned forward in his chair, Gryst'lyn stilled. "I sent her home for her own good, until this madness blows over." The grand cleric rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Many of our patrons think it is poor judgment for someone who is supposed to be a pillar of our society to be entangling herself with someone so…" he glanced toward Gryst'lyn, gaze appraising him for the right word, "Lost." He looked back at Magister Emberdawn. "Some questions have been raised as to her morals if she's willing to throw her lot in with a homewrecker. Others simply wonder if she'll be able to do her duties when she expends so much energy with her current partner. Lady Dawnsbreeze is quite adamant that Miss Lightswill is bound to be exhausted constantly, with the activities she's doing with her current company."

Gryst'lyn slid into the chair, jerking it to the side so that he was facing the grand cleric rather than his father. "Who in the nether is trying to hurt Amaeria?"

For a moment, the grand cleric looked like he wasn't sure what to say. Then, abruptly, his face deadpanned. "Think of all the elves you've slighted. In the past, some have gone for your father or your sister or mother, trying to shame them in the way their families were shamed. But the one they really wanted to shame was you. And you didn't even care. If your father can't go back to a shop, it doesn't matter to you. If your sister is frozen out of certain circles, you don't care. It may not work now, either, but people who have been boiling in their resentment of you are seeing a new avenue to make you _regret_ what you've done in the past. This avenue's name is Amaeria." He sat back in his chair, frowning. "It _will_ blow over. I won't have one of my priestesses being treated so cruelly."

Gryst'lyn rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the priest with narrowed eyes. Was this a joke? Amaeria hadn't mentioned anything about any such problems. Surely she would have if people were actually forcing her out of the life she loved so dearly.

But then…she'd hadn't gone to the cathedral in almost a week. Whenever he asked about whether she was falling behind in her translations, she'd just changed the subject or dismissed his queries.

And she'd seemed sadder the last few days, even though she tried to hide it behind a closed-eyed smile.

How had he not seen it?

"What would I have to do to make this better?"

~?~

Adrias held a long, slender throwing knife in one hand as he stared across his room at a poorly penciled picture on the wall. It was held in place by another knife, with a few more sticking out of the parchment and around the wall where he'd thrown them and missed. At least his aim was getting better.

Another dozen blades rested on the pillow beside him as he swung the knife back and forth like a pendulum. Things were not going well for him. How many fools had he sent after that damned priestess now? How many had he riled up, reminding them of all the things that Gryst'lyn had done to them? He was certain at least a few of them were willing to make sure that the happy couple would be broken up.

He'd even found his way back to an old lay, Prynn Morningstar. The priestess had, by some odd twist, been that wench's best friend. As he'd snuggled up to Prynn, he'd pointed out how it wasn't fair to her dear friend that all these horrible things were happening. She'd seemed genuinely concerned for her friend's welfare.

Surely if enough of the 'good folk' went to her about the horrid life she'd have with Gryst'lyn, she would back out. The last one had.

Then, once she broke his heart, Adrias would be there for Gryst'lyn. Things would go back to how they'd been before.

His door swung open, and Adrias gripped the blade and flung it toward the open space without looking.

A gloved hand caught the blade an inch from the owner's nose. "I was wondering where my throwing daggers had gotten to." A well-built elf with long, long blonde hair falling over his shoulder in a single braid stood in the doorway, making no attempt to actually enter the room.

"Get out or I'll flay you."

"Alright," his brother offered with a shrug. He tossed the dagger back into the room rather than try to reclaim it, no doubt noticing the symbols that had been drawn onto the length of the blade. Wren might not have any magical aptitude, but he'd dealt with his brother enough to know not to trust anything the dark-haired elf had touched. Wren paused, drumming his fingers on the doorway. "Gryst'lyn's here for you, by the way."

"I said get—" Adrias paused and straightened up on his bed, looking at his brother. The Farstrider had a look of contempt on his face. "Gryst'lyn is here?"

"How I pity that fool," his brother paused in the door, glancing at his knives and then the picture on the wall. It was drawn to look like Amaeria Lightswill. "He deserves better friends."

Wren disappeared down the hall and was out of sight by the time Adrias reached the doorway. It was for the best. The idiot knew better than to try to get his weapons back, and Adrias didn't feel like expending his energy on some curse, anyway.

He darted down the hallway to the foyer, though he slowed his pace when he was close enough that Gryst'lyn might hear him. He didn't want his fellow sinner to think that he was too eager for his company. That would never do.

He'd been going over the different indifferent comments he could make about Gryst'lyn's return to the darkness when he reached the top of the staircase leading down to where his friend awaited.

Gryst'lyn was pacing the room, his hair a mess as he'd been combing his fingers through it over and over again. However, when he saw Adrias, his ears perked up, and his expression brightened. He darted up the steps, stopping a few short of where Adrias stood.

Something about his reaction was…off. This was not a broken man returning to where he belonged.

The two of them stood there in silence for a moment, neither wanting to be the first one to say something.

Finally, Gryst'lyn spoke, a frown settling into place. "Did you know that there are people trying to hurt Amaeria because of the things I've done?"

"Oh? How terrible."

Gryst'lyn nodded, pacing on the damned step he stood on and then leaning against the rail. "Apparently they think hurting her will hurt me, so they've got their sights on her."

"How unfortunate," Adrias murmured. He'd misgauged that worthless priestess. He'd assumed she would have at least had a bit of a spine and that she wouldn't go crying to Gryst'lyn after the first shots were fired.

"There's only one thing that I can do to fix this, to protect her—"

"She'll miss you, I'm sure," Adrias offered in a caring tone, though he stopped when he noticed the odd look Gryst'lyn gave him.

Another uncomfortable silence fell over them before Gryst'lyn finally broke out into a grin. "I'm not leaving Amaeria. I'm going to become a priest."


	7. Chapter 7

Amaeria peeked over the balcony, where she was hunched down, her ears flattening a little as she watched the ensuing argument between Gryst'lyn and one of the older priests. He'd really been trying to follow the priesthood's moral code these last two weeks.

Well, trying to follow most of it. He hadn't given up his drinking—not that he over did it, that she could see—or his other recreational vices.

At least he wasn't sleeping around.

Even if almost everyone was still adamant that he had to be.

Well, they had been.

It was a small victory to her that she'd made it almost thirteen hours without a single person telling her that the elf she was in love with was likely bedding everything that moved. She lowered herself down and sat with her back against the balcony's rail, thinking over her relationship.

She loved him.

It was there, and it was real.

She hadn't told him yet, though. She could still remember talking to him that first night, when they'd been under the spell. He'd told her about his issues with commitment. If she told him how she felt, she fretted that his fears would kick in, and he really might abandon her. Part of her hated herself for even considering that he would do something like that, but then…

She slouched forward, pulling her knees up so that she could rest her chin on them. Luckily the day was winding down and most of the other priests had gone home. The few who remained would be keeping watch over the cathedral, or just staying holed up in studies, working on research.

"I don't see why it should matter how I fold a damned cloth!" Gryst'lyn's voice carried up to her. She sighed, mouthing the response that came next.

"It is folded as it has been folded for thousands of years! I will not have you casting aside millennia of tradition because it requires you to pay more attention than you'd care to!" One of the high priests snapped back. She was an older elf, and her voice wavered, despite the determination in it. "You will do it again, and do it properly!"

"You didn't make the others do it again!"

"The others in your class are children!"

Amaeria's eyes widened, and she buried her face in the cloth on her knees.

When Gryst'lyn had announced to her that he would become a priest, she'd been floored. It had honestly never entered the realm of possibility for her. She doubted it had for anyone. A few nights after, when he'd finally managed to win over the grand cleric and gain admittance into one of the novice training classes, they’d gone out to celebrate at one of the few restaurants he could go to where no one wanted to strangle him upon sight. Adrias had met them there.

While she wasn't sure it had been planned, Gryst'lyn had welcomed his company, thrilled that his two favorite people were finally meeting. Adrias had barely given her a glance the entire evening. Instead, he'd looked…hollow.

Like a man whose hopes and dreams had been battered across the floor so hard that they were no longer discernible. She'd felt bad for him, though when Gryst'lyn had left the table for a moment, and she'd tried to talk to him, the man had given her a look that heavily implied that if he thought he could get away with it, he'd kill her to get Gryst'lyn back.

She was quite terrified of the elf. Quite.

Yet Gryst'lyn didn't see it. They'd had their first fight about Adrias, in fact. When she'd expressed that he didn't seem fond of her—an understatement, truly—Gryst'lyn had bristled and insisted that she'd misread his actions.

She could still see that look. It was seared into her memory. She'd misread nothing.

But Gryst'lyn was surprisingly naïve in some respects, and so she'd let it slide, promising herself that she wouldn't ever be alone with the dark-haired, brooding monster he called a best friend.

That fight had seemed to start something between them, though. More and more, he seemed tense, restless. Little things seemed to set him off, and she worried that trying to follow so strict a moral code was wearing on him.

She'd tried to talk to him about it, but he wouldn't entertain the subject, instead simply stating that he was tired and either curling up in her bed or actually going home for the evening.

It was even more frustrating because it seemed like all they did anymore was have sex. That in itself wasn't a problem, but before they'd talked. And then she'd been relieved of her duties, and he'd changed. He'd become so determined to be a priest, even though he didn't seem very fond of any of the actual aspects.

He couldn't heal, as he couldn't use any type of magic. Most priest applicants were politely declined if they hadn't a connection with the Light. However, the grand cleric had taken him in. Gryst'lyn's morals were terrible. While he seemed to have stopped sleeping around, he still promoted it, complimenting people for having 'adventures' if he happened to hear a confession in passing. She was also fairly certain he'd stolen one of the elven children's lunch two days ago, though she hadn't any proof. Well, no proof aside from the unusual determination he'd announced when she'd brought it up. He definitely hadn't been remorseful.

And then he didn't care for tradition or reading. He wasn't fond of history and seemed to forget it almost as soon as he learned it. In fact, he only even made an effort if she was the one teaching him about said history or custom.

The one—debatably—good thing he'd done since joining the Order was to punch out an elf who had been harassing one of the priestesses. And then it had turned out that the elf in question was her brother, who had been persistently trying to beg forgiveness for some slight.

At least he'd been willing to defend someone.

He was so dedicated whenever he spoke to her, but the second he thought she wasn't around, he just grew agitated.

It had grown quiet down below, and she dared to peek over the balcony again. The high priestess was angrily refolding the table cloths as they were meant to be, but Gryst'lyn was nowhere in sight.

Taking a guess, she wandered down stairs to where the apprentices kept their belongings, nearly tripping into Gryst'lyn as he came out. He smiled brightly at her, tossing his hair over his shoulder and then looping an arm around hers.

"How was your day?"

She smiled faintly. "Fine. Yours?"

"Oh, it was fine, too." He nodded. Did he honestly think that the things he was doing weren't getting back to her? Priests might be confined to keeping confessions to themselves, but as a result it seemed to make them all the more prone to gossip on matters of any other nature. And the hapless recruit was a current favorite. He scratched absently at his chin. "Have they put you back on any translations?"

He asked her that every day.

"Oh, not yet. Right now I'm in charge of tending to the gardens and keeping part of the library in order." She smiled, slipping her arm around his waist. "I just have to work back up to it."

"You shouldn't," he muttered. When she blinked, he just shook his head. "It's nothing. I…I was thinking of going home tonight. I'll walk you home and then head out. Early morning," he mumbled.

"You could always stay the night. We can walk to work together," she teased.

He kept his gaze straight forward. "Maybe tomorrow."

She let her gaze wander straight ahead, her smile slipping. "Sure."

~"~

Gryst'lyn practically kicked Adrias' door off its hinges, though he did pause when he noticed glowing green runes lighting up on the floor of his friend's room. He'd seen them before, on occasion, though he'd never thought much of them.

Now though…he was fairly certain that that particular shade of green meant something bad. One of his priest training courses was a history class, and they'd been discussing the Burning Legion and Well of Eternity.

Adrias was standing to one side of the runes, facing the circle that they made, a book in one hand and that same green energy encompassing the other, outstretched hand.

His eyes were a little bit on the greener side than usual, too.

Gryst'lyn stared at him and then looked down at the runes. "Adrias, are you a warlock?"

Snapping the book shut, Adrias arched his eyebrows as he watched the circle of runes fade out. A long, pronounced silence settled over them until the room was completely dark, save for a few flickering candles. "Would it make a difference if I was?"

"Not really, no," Gryst'lyn shrugged.

"Yes, I am a warlock."

"Huh…" Gryst'lyn looked up from the floor, meeting his friend's gaze. "Do you actually curse people then?"

"Mostly just that worthless brother of mine." Adrias set his book down on a table nearby and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Is this…relevant to something?" As he spoke, he conjured flames and tossed them to the various braziers around the room, giving it more light. "Dear, little Amaeria hasn't accused me of anything, I hope."

"No, no," Gryst'lyn shook his head before pausing. "She does seem to think you dislike her."

"Perish the thought."

"That's what I said," Gryst'lyn grumbled. Honestly, it was cute that she was jealous of his friend, but he hoped that wouldn't become a problem later. After all, aside from Amaeria, Adrias was really all he had. "Do you remember Magister Amberglade?"

"Vaguely," Adrias walked over to the two chairs beside his window and sat in one, pouring two drinks. Without thinking, Gryst'lyn followed him over and plopped down as well.

As he took a sip of alcohol, he caught some of his hair and inspected it idly. "Apparently his wife was one of the ladies we had a three-way with."

"Ah, yes. Margareece. I remember her well."

"Mmm," Gryst'lyn nodded, pausing a moment. That had actually been the first time that he and Adrias had shared a lover, though hardly the last. It had been a spectacular evening. He suddenly found himself wondering if he'd ever be able to persuade Amaeria into a three-way. He dismissed the notion for a later time when he realized Adrias was waiting for him to continue. "He seems to think that you cursed him."

"I did."

"I know that, but—oh. You did?"

Adrias inclined his head forward once and then took a small sip from his drink.

"Well, he seems to think that whenever I have a problem, that I run to you and get you to curse people."

Adrias scoffed. "Warlocks give orders. We don't take them." After he took another sip from his glass, he eyed Gryst'lyn. "He's bothering you, though?"

"Don't curse him, please." As Adrias' face contorted into a look that could only be disgust, Gryst'lyn reached out and caught his hand. "Not on my behalf, anyway. If I need to, I'll break his nose…or fingers…or, well, you get the idea."

"My way is so much more elegant." He looked down at Gryst'lyn's hand, but didn't pull away. "There's so much artistry in weaving together a good curse. There are the generic ones, but it's so much more…fulfilling if you can make one fit the target."

"Well, I hate to quell your art," Gryst'lyn murmured. He let his gaze wander out the window and sat back in his chair, thinking over the past few days. "It's not just him."

"Oh?"

"Dozens of people I've…wronged have been coming by the cathedral. It's like I'm a caged animal that they want to poke and prod with sticks and stones. And then the priests are…they're horrible in their own right."

"It sounds like you don't want to be a priest," Adrias said. As Gryst'lyn looked up at him, he could swear he saw his friend mask a smile. The warlock stared down at his drink, swishing it around slowly in his glass.

"What am I supposed to do, though? Amaeria loves being a priestess, and if I don't do something to prove that she's with someone who's not completely deplorable, they'll punish _her_." Gryst'lyn finished his drink in a single gulp. As he rested it on his knee, Adrias leaned forward and filled it back up. "I told her I had things to do and came here. I can't bear the fact that she's being forced to do menial tasks because of…me. She's got a brilliant mind, and she doesn't deserve to waste away pulling weeds when she could be translating stories or…being happy."

"Maybe she likes weeds."

"She doesn't. She says she doesn’t mind, but I can see it in her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking. She’s miserable." He gave Adrias a pleading look. "I don't know what to do. I feel so…trapped."

Even as he fell into a dismal mood, Adrias let out a pronounced sigh. The warlock rolled his eyes slowly and then looked at his friend. "I have heard that apologies go quite far in some circles. Perhaps you could try your hand at that?"

"Apologies?" Gryst'lyn glanced out the window again before giving his friend a skeptical once over. "You mean, simply saying that I'm sorry for whatever I've done?"

"Supposedly it goes a long way." Adrias muttered.

"Would that work for you?"

"I've never apologized for anything," Adrias replied calmly and then smirked. "And anyone who wrongs me doesn't generally get a chance." He paused and looked back at Gryst'lyn, eyes widening briefly. "In theory, it could work though."

Gryst'lyn downed his second drink in another gulp, set the glass down, slapped the armrests of his chair, and stood. "Alright then. I'm off to apologize."

"Now?"

"I don't like waiting," he murmured before grinning at Adrias. "I'll let you know how it turns out."

"Of course."

~"~

Amaeria groaned as she opened her eyes, her ears twitching. Someone was banging on her front door. Incessantly.

"I'm coming," she called out, half-awake. She wished Gryst'lyn were there. She could have sent him down to check instead. Slipping on a robe to cover her nightgown, she shuffled down her hall and downstairs to the door. When she was there, she paused peering out the window beside the door. All that noise was giving her a headache.

Gryst'lyn stood outside, pounding on her door furiously.

"Hold on," she cried out, a little more aware.

The racket outside died down for a moment and she fumbled with her lock. She wouldn't have been so tired, but she'd found that if she wasn't curled up with Gryst'lyn that she had trouble drifting off. The fact that he'd woken her when she'd finally fallen asleep wasn't helping.

She'd barely opened the door when Gryst'lyn blew in, fury contorting his features. She closed the door as he paced her foyer madly. Before she could even say hello, he glared her way.

"Do you think that I'm beyond redemption?"

"Huh?" She wasn't sure where that'd come from.

"That I can't be forgiven for the things I've done?" He stopped, facing her fully, his cheeks flushed and his hair spilling crazily over his shoulders. "Well?"

Amaeria blinked slowly. She was missing something. "Forgiven for what, exactly?"

"For everything!" He cried out. He began pacing again. "I know I've been with other elves' partners, but I'm not a bad person. I've never killed anyone. I've never hit anyone…no one that wouldn't enjoy it, anyway. I've never—"

Amaeria waved her hands, catching his attention. She stumbled toward him, trying to shake her weariness so that she could comfort him. "Gryst'lyn, stop. You can't…focus on the past so much—"

"Why not? It's what's focusing on you!"

"I…" Amaeria frowned. "So?"

Gryst'lyn stared at her, an eye twitching. "…so?"

Blinking a few times to clear her head, Amaeria shook her head. "You think I can't handle a few idiots?"

"They kicked you out of the priesthood!"

"They sent me home until they could get some things sorted out," Amaeria replied. She stepped up to him and lightly clasped his hands. "Yes, I was angry when they first did it, but it was nice to have some time to spend with you." She smiled up at him, though he didn't return the sentiment.

"They're not letting you translate books anymore."

"There's a magister something-or-other who's complaining that my work can't be trusted since I apparently have such poor judgment, so my previous translations are being vetted. They haven't found a single flaw with them yet, and they won't. Once he's been appeased, I'll be back to translating." She paused and then ran her fingers up his arms until she could lace them behind his neck. "Besides, if he really wants to complain about my choices, he'll have to explain a few of his own."

"You…" Gryst'lyn stared down at her, his brow twitching together. "You're going to blackmail him."

"Never," Amaeria replied, smiling simply. "A priest or two I know are simply going to remind him that no one is perfect, should he not be appeased with the efforts the priesthood is making to mollify him." She paused, frowning as she lowered her gaze. His shirt's top button was undone and she could see his chest. She wanted to nuzzle up against him, but another notion stopped her. "That does sound a little like blackmail, doesn't it?"

"That sounds like the definition of blackmail," Gryst'lyn said, reaching down and cupping her chin. He searched her eyes. "You…priests do this often?"

"I don't," Amaeria said, finally coming fully to her senses. "I give sermons and heal and…smile and placate distraught patrons when I'm told to. But there are those who will deal with problems like this. Their work just takes time."

"So…what you're telling me is that priests are just as terrible as everyone else."

"Have you seen the high priests when they don't get the 'proper' tithes? They make house calls."

"But you…" Gryst'lyn rested his hands on her hips. "You're a good person."

"And that has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a priestess," she shook her head. "I'm a good person because I was raised right and taught the value of love and kindness. I could be a mage or warrior or…common elf, and I would still be a good person." She peered up at him, smiling again. "You know you don't have to be a priest to prove that you're a good person, right?"

"I just…wanted people to forgive me," Gryst'lyn whispered.

"Really?"

"I wanted them to forgive me so that they wouldn't hurt you."

Amaeria rose up on her toes and kissed him, running her fingers through his crimson hair. His arms slipped around her, pulling her closer. When she finally pulled back, she ran her fingers against his cheek. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but…you're a terrible priest. You shouldn't do something you can't stand just so someone else will be happy."

He rested his forehead against hers. And then, abruptly, he pulled back. "So, wait. You would have been accepted back in the cathedral even if I hadn't become a priest?"

"Of course. I can translate texts in half the time it takes most other elves. They'd be loathe to let go of me for good."

Gryst'lyn's eye twitched again. "That bastard…" He looked back down at her. "The grand cleric made it sound like I would have to do something extreme to make sure you wouldn't be blacklisted."

"Gryst'lyn," Amaeria shook her head. "It is the elf's job to recruit new priests and run the cathedral. Whenever a new priest is accepted into the fold, the family is expected to make a donation to honor that the Light took them in. Why do you think he wanted you to join?"

Even as Gryst'lyn looked ready to scream, Amaeria giggled, leaning her head against him. "You're so…innocent when it comes to political matters." She smiled before kissing his neck when he tried to protest. "I love that about you. I love you."

"What?"

Amaeria's eyes shot open as she realized what she'd done. She didn't move a muscle, staring straight ahead without really seeing anything. How could she have been so stupid? Things were going so well. He was _finally_ talking to her.

And now…

He leaned back, looking down at her, his expression a mirror of her surprise.

Taking a step back, she cast her gaze about for anything interesting to focus on. "I mean…it's not that…I just—"

His hands framed her cheeks as he leaned down and kissed her again. "I love you, too."


	8. Chapter 8

Amaeria brushed back some of her hair as she held the ring out to Prynn, unable to mask the smile lighting up her pale features. As her friend took in the delicate, yet intricate band that looked as though it were silver leaves, she bit her lip, trying not to jump up and down like a giddy child. "We're getting married!"

"His dad okayed it?" Prynn asked, her gaze jerking up from the ring to meet Amaeria's. "I thought he was being weird because you weren't nobility?"

"Gryst'lyn talked to him and, well…I don't know all the details, but he approved." Amaeria couldn't stop herself from hopping a little, her robes swishing around her as she did so. "And my parents seem alright with it, as well."

"Oooh, this is great! I'm so happy for you!"

Even as Prynn offered her back the ring, she shook her head. "Actually, I was hoping you could hold on to it for me? I'm going on a patrol along the border of the human territories for two weeks, and it would kill me if I lost this." She reached out and ran her fingers against the cool metal. "I wanted a chance to talk to Jaserisk before I get married, and, well, this seems like it'll be the only chance I'll get."

"A patrol though?" Prynn shuddered. "What if the trolls attack you?"

With a grin, Amaeria patted Prynn's shoulder. "We'll actually be more to the west. Part of the route goes near one of the human cities…Stratholme, I think?" She shrugged. "Want me to bring you back anything from the human lands?"

"Of course not," Prynn wrinkled her nose and then laughed. "But I won't hold it against you, if you do." Even as her friend laughed, she looked back at the ring, shaking her head. "I can't believe you're getting married."

The skin crinkled around her eyes as Amaeria nodded. "A week after I get back. Gryst'lyn said he wanted me to be around for at least a little bit of the stress of having to throw together a wedding." She closed Prynn's fingers around the ring as she turned to head out. She had a lot of packing to do before she left in the morning. "It's going to be beautiful."


End file.
